


lights will guide you home

by screamingarrows



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angry Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Everyone in this bar is SAD, Gen, Hurt Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Hurt/Comfort, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani centric, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingarrows/pseuds/screamingarrows
Summary: In which Joe is hurting and Booker is hurting and the road to redemption is not easily paved.
Relationships: Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Nile Freeman, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 126
Kudos: 285





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't been able to stop thinking about Booker and Joe and the way a friend can absolutely destroy your life. This fic is going to put both men through the ringer, but I do love them both and they both get their happy ending <3
> 
> \--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at the end

They’re quiet after they leave Booker. Andy slides into the driver’s seat of the rental car and Joe sits in the passenger seat while Nile and Nicky climb into the back. The weight of their decision – _Booker’s decision_ – settles heavy over them and Joe stares unseeingly out the window. He looked back and the sight of Booker watching them leave haunts him; the nod of acceptance before Joe follows Andy and the rest up the stairs.

Tears burn his eyes and he bites his cheek hard enough to hurt.

\--

When they arrive at their new safe house, they exit the car in unison. Joe walks around the car where Nicky’s waiting for him and he grabs his husbands hand and pulls him along, following after Andy and Nile. Holding Nicky’s hand, feeling the solid warmth of him under his fingertips, settles the anxiety spinning in his chest. Nicky presses close to Joe and kisses the back of his neck when they get inside. Nicky takes the lead, guiding Joe to the worn out couch and nudging him to sit down; Nicky steps away and does a lighthearted sweep of the room, mostly satisfied to let Andy and Nile check the house, but needing to check the windows for his own satisfaction before settling down next to Joe. 

Nile joins them soon, sitting in the armchair Booker usually claims and Joe shies away from that thought as Andy comes down and slouches in her chair.

“I’ve never been here before,” Nile says after the silence last long enough to suffocate. “It’s nice.” Joe looks over at her and envies the way she elbows her way through their discomfort.

“I don’t think I’ve been here since the country was established,” Andy says, forcefully light and Joe’s lips twitch up on their own accord at the look of surprise on Nile’s face. Soon enough that shock will wear off, but the others will have fun with it while it lasts.

“It’s been, what, three, four hundred years?” Joe says, nudging Nicky with his shoulder and when he looks over, Nicky is smiling fondly first at Joe and Andy before his expression softens even more when he looks to Nile.

“They tease,” he says reassuringly, “we were here for the new millennium.”

Nile rolls her eyes and laughs.

“ _Boo_ ,” Andy says, reaching out with her foot to kick the edge of the couch with a good-natured smile.

“So they just lie for no reason,” Nile says to Nicky with a laugh, ignoring the protests Joe and Andy make. Nicky wraps his arm around Joe’s shoulder and hugs him while Joe squirms into his side.

“No, no, no,” Joe says as Nicky kisses his temple.

“Yes,” Nicky says, raising his voice over Andy’s, “hey! That’s slander”.

Joe looks around the living room, chest growing warm as Andy and Nile laugh loudly and he can feel Nicky’s soft laughter against his side.

\--

Life with Nile is easier than Joe expected; not that he expected not to get along with her- anyone who would jump out of a building into freefall to save Andy is someone Joe knows he’ll get along with- but he remembers, painfully, how stunted life was when Booker first joined. Traumatized by his family’s death, Booker was resistant to opening up to them; Nile on the other hand, is friendly by nature, open and eager to learn.

And they do their best to teach her. They give her tips and tell her stories, tip toeing around Booker’s existence in them. It doesn’t make the memory hurt any less.

But anger, Joe realizes, is easier than heartbreak.

They do their best to avoid mentioning Booker, but it’s impossible to omit him when he was theirs for just under two hundred years. Joe’s heart always rests heavy in his chest, sinking to his stomach, whenever he’s mentioned and he feels guilt gnaw at his insides when he sees Nicky’s eyes go hard and voice carefully neutral or Andy’s lips turn down and forcefully keep her tone light while mentioning as few details as possible. Their delicate display of emotion make him feel insane; like the words would rip him apart from the inside if he doesn’t speak them.

But he’s careful, because he knows the others are suffering just as much as he, and so when Booker’s brought up and the emotions overwhelm him, he lets every word escape like a curse. 

Cursing Booker’s existence is easier than mourning his absence.

He’s not sure if he succeeds in hating Booker, but no one makes him talk about it; so when Nicky wraps him up in his arms silently at night or when Andy gently scratches at his scalp when they’re curled against each other in the mornings or when Nile brings him a coffee after a strong outburst, and they merely exist beside him so he can try to forget the one he’s lost, he finds it’s a little easier to breathe.

\--

But breathing easier doesn’t mean existing is easier. Joe can’t sleep, he doesn’t have an appetite. How can he sleep without knowing if Booker is sleeping? How can he eat without knowing if Booker’s eating? How can he go to the market, when he’s surrounded by things he wants to share with his missing brother? How can he simply exist when the desire to talk to Booker burns through him like a physical heat? Life moves on and he tries to keep up; there’s a lot to do here and he can’t afford to truly wallow in what he’s lost. They have Nile now, to train with and learn from, and Andy’s mortality to adapt to, and Copley to watch and trust he won’t betray them twice.

There’s just _a lot to do here_ , but Joe can’t stop thinking about Booker. The man haunts his thoughts. His mind, whenever he’s alone, immediately retreats to the past, fixating on all their interactions in attempt to pinpoint the exact moment Booker decided spending the rest of his life with them was worse than being kept in a cage. _Was his smile duller here,_ he’d wonder. _Was his laugh forced there? Did he hesitate when Joe reached out to him then?_ Or has the knowledge of Booker’s betrayal twisted his memories into what he wants to know?

Because Joe has to know. He can’t stop thinking about it. _When, when, when. When_ did he lose Booker? Has he always felt this way? They knew Booker was struggling, but had he truly spent the last two hundred years faking it, just waiting for the moment to leave them? Was Joe that blind to not have seen it coming or was there something that made Booker break beyond repair?

Joe’s not sure which is worse: that Booker played them all or that Booker broke suddenly and violently and no one noticed.

But amid his heartbreak, he _is_ angry. He’s so _angry_. Booker was _family_. Booker was his brother, his best friend, the person he counted on to watch out for dangers, the person he trusted to protect his loved ones. And Booker not only betrayed them – because Joe can cope with betrayal, he can survive and live through betrayal – but he _hurt_ them; he was the sole and direct reason Joe’s biggest fear came to light.

He wishes his anger was enough to make him hate Booker, but it’s not. It just makes him exhausted.

He lays in bed, exhaustion dragging his soul down through the floorboards, curled around Nicky, feeling the steady rise and fall of his love’s chest, and blinks back furious tears lest the fall and mar Nicky’s pale skin.

 _It’s not fair_. This is supposed to be _Booker’s_ punishment, so why is _Joe_ the one not able to sleep, or eat, or live without the reminder he’s missing a brother who hurt him so deeply his soul might be permanently scarred from the betrayal.

Joe closes his eyes and tries to make his mind go blank as he nuzzles into Nicky’s neck. It’s easy to center himself when Nicky’s in his arms. Joe focuses on the warm weight of him against his chest, the gentle, steady sounds of his breathing, the smell of their shared shampoo, the rhythmic beating of his chest, but suddenly Joe imagines he can hear beeping—a heart monitor recording Nicky’s heartbeat as he’s poked and prodded on a medical table, too far away for Joe to comfort. Too far away. He’s always too far away. Joe’s arms tighten around Nicky as if that will stop the memories from coming, as if he could go back in time and step in front of him when bullets mow them down in a kill room. He can’t hear Nicky’s breathing anymore, can only hear guns that morph into the sound of a flashbang into the sound of a grenade as it explodes in Booker’s lap into the sound of Keane’s gun going off in Nicky’s mouth. He remembers the way blood spilled from him and the fear that kept Joe from touching Nicky like a forcefield, until Nicky woke with a gasp and spat out red, red, red, red the color that stained Andy’s torso for far too long and sends different spikes of terror through him.

He can feel Nicky move in his arms and he comes back to his body like a rubber band snapping. Nicky’s still asleep, but he’s responding to Joe’s tension and stress and Joe forces his body to relax. He holds his breath until his lungs feel like they’ll burst and takes a few shaky breaths until he can breathe in deep and steady. Nicky settles back into peace and Joe rubs his thumb reassuringly over Nicky’s pulse point.

At the time, one hundred years seemed fair, but it’s only been a handful of months and Joe dreads thinking about how the next century will be. He doesn’t want to feel like this anymore, doesn’t want to keep picking at the festering wound in his chest, but he doesn’t want to move on without Booker. He’s a little terrified of healing so soundly, that when Booker comes back he won’t _care_.

Dawn starts to color the sky and Nicky stirs in his arms, breathing deeply as he wakes with the sun poking over the horizon.

“Good morning, Nicolò,” Joe says softly against Nicky’s neck and he feels Nicky press his back harder against Joe’s chest. He hums and Joe smiles against him, certain Nicky can feel his beard scruff against his sensitive skin.

“You’re up early,” Nicky says in sleepy Italian and Joe just presses a kiss to the spot behind Nicky’s ear in response. Nicky turns his head and then slowly turns his body, rolling in Joe’s arms until they’re face to face.

“Your eyes look tired,” Nicky says in a whisper, slipping into Arabic and Joe’s heart clenches as the man reaches up and cups his cheek.

“I am tired,” Joe confides and Nicky frowns, a little wrinkle forming between his brows, and he leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of Joe’s lips.

“Then sleep, my love,” Nicky says and shifts his hand up to card his fingers through Joe’s hair before sliding down to rest on his neck. “You’re safe here.”

Joe knows this. Safety is not what troubles him, but curled against Nicky’s chest, being held and cradled and promised security, his eyes drift close of their own accord. Nicky’s fingers scratch against the base of his neck and into his scalp and he whispers something Joe doesn’t catch as he drifts into sleep.

Joe wakes up hours later, warm in Nicky’s arms. His husband smiles at him, presses a kiss to his temple, and asks if he’s feeling better. He’s not, and there’s a glint in Nicky’s light eyes like he knows the answer. His heart is still broken, his family is still broken, Booker is still broken, but Joe doesn’t know how to say all this without putting Nicky through more than he deserves. In a rare instance, Joe doesn’t know how to explain all the emotions writhing around inside him. 

Instead he smiles a soft, sad smile and hides his face in Nicky’s chest.

“You didn’t have to stay the whole time,” he says, voice muffled through the sleep shirt, even though he had no doubt in his mind Nicky would stay the whole time with him. Nicky lets him avoid his question and when Joe looks up, Nicky’s smiling so softly it makes Joe ache.

“You know I like watching you sleep,” he says. Joe rolls his eyes playfully and Nicky huffs a laugh through his nose. “I’m no artist, I must take beauty in as I receive it.”

Joe shifts, snuggling deeper into his pillow to hide his face away.

“Very captivating, I’m sure,” Joe says and waits for Nicky’s snark, but it doesn’t come. He peeks one eye open and sees the intense look on his face, the muscle in his jaw jumping; his lips twitch like he has something to say, but changes his mind. Joe rolls his head, revealing both eyes and he frowns at the expression marking Nicky’s face.

“I love you,” Nicky says finally and Joe frowns deeper at the tone.

He remembers once in the late 20’s when a compromised mission ended with them separated by hundreds of miles. Nicky had called the safe house he and Andy were holed up in and promised he’d be home soon. Joe had gripped the landline tight in his hand, pressed the receiver against his head as if that closeness would take him to Nicky instantly. _I love you_ , Nicky had said, voice low and soft and promising that the distance between them means nothing.

He thought he’d been able to imagine Nicky’s face then, thought he’d seen every aspect of Nicky so completely that the recreation of these emotions was second nature in his mind. But looking at Nicky’s face now, Joe realizes he’d misunderstood then.

That’s the tone Nicky uses for near misses, when they’ve been separated and are finding their way back to each other.

His heart cracks in his chest. _I’m right here,_ he wants to say. _I’m here._ He wants to grab Nicky’s hand and put it to his chest to force him to feel the beating heart inside so he doesn’t look at Joe with such sadness. He wants to say, _I’m sorry. I’m trying to come back from this._

Instead he lets his lips twitch up into a halfhearted smile and says, “and I, you.” His voice cracks and he tries to keep his breathing steady. Nicky says nothing, but reaches out to grab Joe and pulls him back to his chest.

\--

It continues for a long time like this: with the team just a little broken because they don’t know how to work like this, not really. They’ve had months to prepare and train, but they’re all on unsteady ground. They struggle with Andy’s mortality and with Nile still being so new and with Booker leaving the gaping hole he tore through them, with Nicky being heartbroken and Joe fluctuating between anger and loss so strongly he feels like he’s the epicenter of an earthquake.

But they _try_. They teach Nile and bond with her; they walk through her own losses at her side like they tried with Booker. They learn new methods of fighting and come up with different plans that will keep Andy safe. Joe tries his hardest to be normal for Nicky, to ease his suffering and heartache, but he knows he’s unsuccessful and that’s the worst of it. They continue to tiptoe around mentioning Booker, unwilling to talk joyfully about him in front of each other and refusing to inadvertently turn Nile against him. It’s not what it was. It’s a small stunted thing now, but it’s something. Something Joe’s desperately trying to cling to with both hands because this little family is all he has and is all he wants and it’s almost enough.

Until Andy gets sick.

Nile promises up and down it’s just a cold and she’ll be fine, but it’s been so long since any of them got sick…

Does their immune system even accept today’s germs? What if Andy’s immune system hasn’t truly worked since her first death and now she’s going to be killed by something no one can even see?

Nicky scarcely leaves her side and Joe is left to pace nervously down the hall outside the bedroom door until Nile grabs him and forces him to sit at the table, shoving a warm mug in his hands and crossing her arms until he takes a sip.

“She’s going to be okay,” Nile says and Joe bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting and taste blood.

“You can’t know that,” he whispers around the fear winding around his lungs and suffocating him.

“Joe,” Nile says softly and then sighs. She sits, reaching out for him, and rests her hand on top of his. “Her fever’s already going down. She’s waking up to eat. This is just a cold, okay? I promise she’ll be fine.”

Her voice is strong with conviction. Her hand goes to the cross necklace at her neck, but not in prayer, in strength. Her dark eyes pierce into his very soul. He had no choice but to believe her.

Nile handles the lion’s share of work during this time. She feeds them mass quantities of soup, creating enough of Andy’s meals for a bowl for each of them, and ushers them to bed when she can; she watches over Andy and gives her medicine when she needs it, recording the dose on a little notebook she’d got when Nicky wouldn’t stop compulsively checking Andy’s fever to ensure it wasn’t raising too high. There’s a page full of columned numbers: dates and times and temperatures and medicine amounts, easy and cleanly marked so Nicky can keep sane watching the numbers gradually lower.

Joe can’t do anything but feel guilty. Guilty because he should be helping Nile, he should be at Andy’s bedside helping Nicky keep guard over her, he should be the one making sure Nicky’s fed—but he can’t find the energy to do more than obsess over his own fear, cannot step foot in Andy’s room lest he disturb whatever peace the universe has given and tips the scales irrevocably against them, cannot force Nicky to eat when he, himself, can’t bear to stomach anything.

And worse, he feels the weight of his lost family like a physical pressure. Quynh should be here; Booker should be here. Nile swears Andy’s healing and Joe believes her, but she’s _mortal_. Anything could go wrong at any time. She could choke on her meal. She could catch a flu she can’t beat. She could be hit by a car. They could train too hard one day and break her-

The world’s spinning. Too fast. Joe can’t catch his breath. Or rather, his breath can’t catch up to him. Maybe the world is just fine, but _Joe_ is the one moving too much. The room grows fuzzy. Is there- are they under attack? Has gas stunned his system? He looks around for a window and then his heart seizes in his chest. Nicky. Nile.

 _Andy_.

He has to warn them. He can’t get enough air in his lungs to even shout. He falls to his knees, even though he knows he needs to get higher. Gas usually sneaks up from the ground. He grabs at his chest. He’s going to die. He’s going to die and wake up in chains and instead of leaving Booker’s dying body behind, he’ll be leaving Andromache and she won’t come back this time. He tries to think of the last time he saw her. He doesn’t remember.

There are hands on him and Joe throws himself to the side, trying to avoid capture and crawl to Andy’s room, to issue a warning so Nicky and Nile can get Andy and escape.

Socked feet enter his vision and he looks up to see Nile kneeling in front of him, her hands raised in a display of peace. Relief washes over him; Nile’s here. She’s not scared. He’s not- she must have saved him. Again. He waits for his lungs to heal from the damage, but they won’t. He feels lightheaded, like he’ll float away with a gust of wind and disappear forever. He needs her to touch him so he’s anchored, so he doesn’t abandon them. He still can’t speak around his damaged lungs and he can’t get his hands to move from where they’re wrapped protectively around his own chest.

Nicky’s in front of him now and he’s staring at Joe with wide, worried eyes. He’s talking. So is Nile. But he can’t hear them. Incredibly, his terror can still increase. They’re both fine. Healed. He isn’t. He’s not healing anymore. He thinks about how he and Nicky promised to go together. Made promises the universe scoffs at. Tears fill his eyes and he wishes his arms worked so he could reach out and touch Nicky for the last time. He wants to tell him he’s sorry. He doesn’t mean to leave him. Never wanted to leave him.

He wants Nile to take Nicky away, to force him back into Andy’s room so Joe’s death won’t haunt him for the rest of eternity. He turns pleading eyes onto her, but she doesn’t understand.

She looks scared. He feels bad about that too. She’s so young, losing so many people. It’s not fair.

Then she stands suddenly and for one moment he thinks she gets it, but then she leaves and leaves Nicky behind and Joe wants to sob, wants to scream. She can’t leave Nicky alone. His love can’t handle this. He looks into Nicky’s worried eyes and feels his heart crack open.

“I’m sorry,” he tries to say. “I’m sorry and I love you and I’ll wait for you, I promise.”

Nicky shouts something unheard and Joe thinks, _yes, call for Nile. Don’t be alone._

Nile shows up. Her mouth moves and Joe can’t understand, but he watches as she pulls a rag out of a bowl in her hands. She presses the rag against his arm. He gasps in shock at the cold and as if that was a signal the world was waiting for, sound filters back into existence. He’s breathing raggedly, loudly, and he can hear Nile and Nicky talking to him in desperate, even tones.

“You’re okay,” Nile says, “you’re doing well.”

“Yusuf, please, my heart,” Nicky says in ancient Arabic. “Please breathe. Just breathe for me.”

“I can’t,” he tries to say but the words get caught around a sharp gasp. More than anything he wishes he could obey Nicky’s pleas. He would do anything for him; Joe hopes he knows that.

He shivers violently as the cold water drips down his arms from Nile’s constant wiping and he’s able to fist his hands on his thighs. He presses his knuckles into the muscle and catches his breath on the pain. Nicky frowns and reaches out, grabbing Joe’s hands away from his legs and yanking them to press against Nicky’s chest.

Joe feels his world brighten at the touch and he opens his fists, pressing his palms flat against Nicky’s chest to feel his racing heart. Nile puts the rag back in the bowl and reaches out to touch his shoulder. Joe leans into her and her hand moves down his back, rubbing in warm, soothing circles as the band around his lungs loosen. The first shuddery breath he takes in is sweeter than anything he’s ever felt. His lungs expand greedily and Nicky moves Joe’s hands from his chest, holding them in his own large ones before raising them and pressing a reverent kiss to his knuckles before lowering them back to his chest.

“That’s good,” he registers Nile saying, “just like that, Joe. Nice and even. You’re okay.”

Nicky seems to be praying in his mother tongue and Joe squeezes the fingers intertwined within his. Nicky looks up and he gives the faintest of smiles. Joe feels like he could drown in the relief coming off them in waves, but he basks in it instead, floating on their love, buoyed against his own fear that seems so distant now.

He collapses forward into Nicky’s chest. He feels his husband’s arms wrap around him and Nile shifts, pressing her body against his side so Nicky can take over rubbing his back.

“You back with us?” Nile asks and Joe nods, too exhausted to lift his face from the warmth of Nicky’s chest.

“Good,” Nicky says and Joe feels the rumble of the word through Nicky’s chest onto his face. Nicky’s lips press against the top of his head. There seems to be a silent conversation happening above him, because he feels Nicky hum and shift and then Nile’s moving away from him. Before he can express his displeasure at that, Nicky’s moving them so he’s being cradled securely in his arms.

“Come on, beloved,” Nicky says, falling back into Arabic. The language anchors Joe like he couldn’t have anticipated. “Let’s take a nap.”

Joe doesn’t say anything, but he nuzzles his head in Nicky’s neck and lets himself be carried to bed.

\--

Joe wakes hours later, curled around Nicky. He sighs softly and presses his lips against the back of Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky squeezes their intertwined fingers, shifting his head to give Joe better access to his neck and shoulder. Joe takes advantage and places soft kisses along the exposed line of him.

“You have good timing,” Nicky says softly and Joe hums in question. Nicky glances over his shoulder. “Nile’s making lunch.”

Suddenly Joe can smell it and his stomach gives a quiet grumble. The guilt from earlier comes creeping back over him and he squeezes Nicky tighter, just for a moment, before letting go.

Together, they make their way to the kitchen quietly, Joe ghosting along behind Nicky like a shadow. Nicky calls out a greeting as he leads Joe to a chair and Nile turns away from the stove and smiles at them. Her eyes rake over Joe and then flicker to Nicky, who joins her at the counter and reaches for some plates.

“Grazie, Nile,” Nicky murmurs softly and Joe watches as she bumps shoulders with him.

“Benvenuto,” she replies back and Joe can see from Nicky’s profile how he smiles at her. Guilt crushes his chest once more; this should be enough.

Nile and Nicky come to the table and Nicky sets Joe’s plate in front of him before he sits down. They don’t speak. Nicky seems to know something’s on the tip of Joe’s tongue and Nile is content to wait him out. He’s struck, suddenly, realizing this is what they’ll be like in fifty years – if they’re lucky – and his leg starts bouncing under the table.

“I think I need to see him,” Joe says, breaking the silence.

They move in unison; he can feel their gaze on him and he looks up, first to Nile and then to Nicky. Nile’s face is carefully blank and she has one eyebrow raised. Her eyes fall to Nicky as Joe’s do.

Nicky’s eyes are pinched and his lips press into a sad line.

“I know,” is all he says.

“I’m—” Joe starts to apologize, but Nicky cuts him off with a slight shake of his head.

“I would feel better knowing how he is,” Nicky says slowly and he tilts his head just slightly, lips upturning into a barely-there smile. Joe feels something in his chest loosen and he looks over at Nile, who nods with wide, earnest eyes.

“Give me a few days,” she says, “I’ll track him down with Copley.”

He _knew_ they wouldn’t deny him this, but their easy open acceptance washes over him like a wave.

“Thank you,” he says and then looks at Nicky. He hopes his husband can see the love Joe himself is drowning in.

\--

Andy’s better the next day. She’s up first thing in the morning, showered and dressed, restlessly moving throughout the house while Nile watches her from wherever she’s sitting, periodically ordering, “Andy, please just sit down,” until it becomes clear it’s a useless effort.

Joe’s heart soars whenever she passes him. He picks up his sketchbook for the first time all week and scribbles down rough draft after rough draft. He plans to go back later and flesh them out, add shadows and more details, but he has to capture the moments as they happen: Nicky bumping Andy’s feet of the coffee table, Andy leaned against the kitchen counters laughing at something Nile said, Andy reclining on the couch with her feet in Nicky’s lap.

Nile and Nicky leave for the grocery when Andy retires to her bedroom for an afternoon nap, so Joe pulls out his sketchbook and folds his legs under him while he starts shading the sketch of Nicky and Andy on the couch. He’s absorbed in his work, crouched over the book and worrying his lip between his teeth; he jumps when he feels the couch dip beside him.

“That looks nice,” Andy says, looking over his shoulder and Joe looks up, grinning.

“You should be sleeping,” he chides playfully and she rolls her eyes, settling into the couch beside him.

“Don’t you start,” she huffs with a smile of her own. “Between Nile and Nicky, I’m surprised I wasn’t swaddled and strapped down.”

Joe laughs and shifts to face her. “Oh, I think he considered it.”

Andy’s laugh joins him and he basks in it.

“It scared me,” Joe confesses once silence falls gently between them. “You being sick.” Andy reaches out, rests a hand on his knee and squeezes.

“I know,” she says softly. He reaches out and rests his hand over hers. It seems so much smaller than his. He doesn’t remember her being this delicate.

“I need to see Booker,” he says, even softer than his first confession. He’s not sure why the words feel like they must exist secretly; like he can only mention him as a whisper or a shout.

“I know,” Andy says again and reaches out with her other hand, cupping the back of Joe’s neck with a firm grip.

“You know no one’s upset with you for that.” She says it like a fact, but her eyebrows stay raised until Joe nods in answer. She pulls him in and bumps their foreheads together before letting him go. He stays angled toward her, though, and swallows hard.

“It wasn’t—it wasn’t right. That he wasn’t here. I… I want to bring him back.”

Joe feels Andy take a deep breath.

“That’s not a light decision,” Andy warns and Joe exhales through his nose.

“What do you think?” he asks and her brows slide into a furrow as she thinks.

“I miss him,” she says softly and her eyes go sad. She looks old, all her years alive reflected in her eyes. “Or I miss who I thought he was.”

That strikes through Joe like a lance, but it does reassure him. At least he’s not the only one unsure if he knew Booker or only knew what Booker wanted him to know.

“And I miss you,” she continues slowly and Joe’s mouth goes dry. “If bringing Booker back early is what you need to come back to me, then that’s what you need to do.”

Joe’s throat closes and he looks away from her, unable to meet her eyes. He hadn’t realized how much his own turmoil was hurting them.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finding the courage to looking back at her and her faces twists in sorrow, but her mouth pulls up in a sad smile.

“Oh, Joe,” she says. “You know not to apologize for that.”

She bumps against his shoulder and jostles him; he forces out a weak laugh at that and Andy stretches her arm along the back of the couch, resting against his shoulders.

“Do the others know?” Andy asks, almost hesitantly, like she didn’t want to upset him further and Joe is struck sick with how much he’s going to miss her.

“They know I want to speak with him,” he says and Andy huffs a breath through her nose.

“Sounds like a family meeting then,” she says and stands. “I’ll start the coffee.”

\--

“Coffee?” Nile says upon coming home. “It’s seven o’clock.”

Nicky frowns beside her and his eyes scan the room. Andy’s standing in the kitchen, already nursing a cup, with Joe at the table positioned with his back to the door. Nicky looks over at Nile and presses his lips into a thin line.

“It’s a family meeting,” he says and walks into the kitchen without another world, leaving Nile to follow behind.

\--

“Did something happen?” Nile asks eventually after everyone’s seated at the table with a cup of coffee in front of them. Her eyes look over at Andy and Joe’s shoulders tense as he leans forward.

“No, no, it’s…” he hesitates and Nicky’s foot nudges against his under the table. Joe takes strength in that, even as he knows what he’s about to ask of him.

“I think we need to renegotiate the terms of Booker’s exile.” He’s watching Nicky as he says it and sees the way he stiffens, folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh,” Nile says, voice high in surprise and in the corner of his eye, sees her look around the table. “Okay then.” She reaches for her mug and takes a deep swallow.

They talk long into the night, shifting through the house like fog across a field. It’s an even tempered conversation; Nicky stays frustratingly quiet as Joe makes his argument and the rest tentatively discuss Booker’s exile, waiting for Nicky to chime in, until they find themselves back at the kitchen as the sky turns a light, dusty grey.

“I can’t work with him,” Nicky says eventually, soft but firm. Beside him Andy nods.

“It’s a little soon for that,” she agrees and Joe nods.

“I don’t think he should be _back_ ,” he says and looks at Nile then Andy, before his eyes find Nicky’s. “But I don’t know if he should stay gone.”

“Where would he stay?” Nile asks, voice low and Joe opens his mouth, then hesitates.

“He could stay nearby? In the same city?” Andy suggests and Joe watches as the muscle in Nicky’s jaw twitches.

“Nicolò, if this is too soon—” Joe says in rushed Italian and Nicky shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s—” he starts in Italian and then stops, switching to English for Nile’s benefit. “I just need time.”

Joe nods, prepared to put the matter at rest, but Nicky shifts, his lips parting just slightly as he takes a breath.

“But if I don’t have to be near him, it’s… it’s okay.”

Nicky’s still tense, the lines of his body hard and closed off, but that doesn’t stop Nile from moving closer to him and provide silent support. Joe aches to take him in his arms and apologize in any way that matters for feeling like he does, but before he can even take a breath, Andy’s exhaling.

“We’ve been at this for too long,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “We don’t even know where he is yet. Nothing has to be decided right now.” She’s looking around the group, but her eyes linger on Nicky for just a moment longer.

“We’ll have a better discussion after we sleep,” she says, voice brooking no argument.

As one, they all seem to relax at Andy’s words and start to move towards their own rooms. Andy brushes her hand along Joe’s shoulders and he sees her grab at Nicky’s wrist before letting it fall and turning to give Nile a pat on the back; physical reminders that she supports them all. His heart thumps heavy in his chest and he turns away, forcing down the ache suddenly creeping up his spine.

Joe hates disagreeing with Nicky; he hates the way he goes quiet and his silence weighs heavy, hates the way his voice stays soft in disappointment. Nicky follows him quietly back to their room and shuts the door without a word. They climb into bed and Joe lays on his side stiffly.

There’ve been many nights where disagreements were only paused because of droopy eyes and while they rarely slept apart, they don’t always lay curled around each other. Joe doesn’t know what to expect and tries to steady himself as Nicky quietly pulls the blinds and climbs into bed after him. Joe’s heart thunders in his ears and he tries to keep his breathing slow and even as he watches Nicky settle on the other side of the bed—and then Nicky rolls, pressing his back against Joe’s chest and Joe lets out a soft exhale. He immediately wraps his arms around Nicky’s chest and pulls him even closer.

They lay like that without speaking a word, both trying to calm their minds enough to fall asleep. It doesn’t work and Joe can feel from the way Nicky’s breathing that he’s still awake too.

“I’m afraid,” Joe confesses into Nicky’s hair. Nicky’s fingers spasm over Joe’s hand.

“Of what, mi amore,” he asks, voice just as quiet as Joe’s.

Joe hesitates and Nicky runs a finger over the back of his hand in silent encouragement and Joe takes in a shaky breath.

“Of being whole without him.”

\--

Midday comes and with it the acceptance to no longer be confined to their rooms. Outside their door, there’s a faint rustling of glass and then the sound of the faucet squeaking to life. Joe listens as the sounds of footsteps softly move through the old house; the floor settles just enough to that Joe can track the person as they move through the living room and then the faint click as the front door opens and shuts.

He thinks it’s Andy, the tread and pace familiar in a way that Nile’s isn’t just yet and Joe is torn between wanting to stay holding Nicky and getting up to move so the restless energy surrounding his heart will stop choking him.

“We should get up,” Nicky says, like he knows what Joe’s thinking. Nicky’s always been good at understanding him – or maybe Joe’s just an open book. When they were still young and new, Joe would test if Nicky wasn’t a secret mind reader. He’d bait him with friendly teases, blushing confessions, and wild questions, all formed in his mind to see if Nicky would respond. He’d shout the thoughts at him just to see if Nicky would flinch.

 _I love you so much_ , Joe thinks loudly, trying again because he wants the simplicity of before, when he dreamt of women warriors and loved Nicky and that was all he needed to know.

“Come on,” Nicky says, stretching to his feet. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, but he gives Joe a small smile that melts him. “Let’s get something to eat.”

When Joe stands, Nicky grabs his hand and leads him out to the kitchen.

\--

“How’d everyone sleep?” Nile asks as she enters the kitchen, not long after he and Nicky enter. She moves to the fridge without waiting for an answer and grabs some orange juice. There’s a glass sitting on the edge of the sink and she grabs it, fills it with juice and downs it before refilling it once more. Joe watches her with eyebrows raised in amused concern and Nicky blinks at her from the stove.

“About as well as you did,” Nicky says and Nile raises the orange juice carton in acknowledgement before turning to put the juice away again. She walks over to the stove and peeks around Nicky’s shoulder.

“Omelets?” she asks and Nicky shifts so she can stand more easily beside him.

“Frittatas,” he corrects and Joe tries not to flinch at knowing why Nicky needs the comfort food. Nile makes a hum of encouragement and looks around.

“Need any help?”

Despite his guilt, Joe feels a smile cross his face as love blossoms in his chest as Nile follows Nicky’s instructions. He hears the soft click of the front door opening again and soon Andy’s standing in the kitchen doorway, watching the scene unfold as Nile and Nicky talk in choppy Italian. Joe looks over at her and she gives him a tired smile as she moves to sit at the table beside him.

They don’t talk, content to let Nicky and Nile fill the kitchen with sound.

\--

They fall silent when they sit for lunch and the room only grows more and more somber as lunch finished; it’s only after Joe’s putting the last dish on the drying rack that Andy lets out a familiar sigh that preludes a talk.

“I know none of you slept, but does anyone have any more to say?” Andy asks, looking around the table.

“Booker needs to be here,” Nicky says after a long moment. “As angry, and hurt, as I am… Joe’s right. I don’t want to heal without him.”

Joe’s heart thumps hard in his chest. His hands yearn to reach out and grab him.

“I got his address,” Nile says softly and clears her throat. “He’s in Paris.”

Paris. Of course he’s in Paris. Anger flashes through Joe and dissolves just as quickly as it comes. Booker always avoided France. If a mission called for their presence in the country, they did their best to make sure it was wrapped up quickly because Booker refused to even sleep there. Joe remembers once, before Booker told them, they were in Paris for nearly a week and Booker’s eyes looked as dark and tired as Nicky’s.

They always understood; these old cites remain stubbornly resistant to change as centuries pass and he hated the look Booker got in his eyes when they’d walk down the worn streets. He’s not surprised Booker would return there to enhance his suffering.

Beside him, he hears Andy exhale hard out of her nose and Nicky’s hands tight around his crossed arms.

“That’s only a few hours away,” Andy says.

Suddenly, Joe’s nervous. His mouth goes dry and he licks at his lips.

“I can be back before the evening,” he says, almost distantly, and Nile nudges his leg under the table.

“Do you want us to go with you?” she asks and he tries to give her a thankful smile.

“No, I think it’ll be better if I go alone.”

Andy and Nicky scrutinize him and he tries to make himself look more confident than he feels. He’s certain he doesn’t fool any of them.

“It’ll be okay,” he says, reassuring them as much as himself.

\--

Joe drives and his mind drifts. Nicky had been reluctant to let him go alone and Joe flexes his hand on the steering wheel, feeling the phantom press of Nicky’s lips against his knuckles. He feels a bundle of nerves in his stomach grow and writhe inside him and he grits his teeth.

_This will be okay. This is going to be good._

He repeats the mantra as he drives. He repeats it as he navigates the busy streets of Paris. He repeats it as he lifts his hand to knock on the old wooden door at the address Nile gave him.

_This will be okay. This is going to be good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Joe suffers a pretty rough panic attack in this fic after Andy catches a cold.
> 
> \--
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! I'm currently working on the second part and would love some input! I'm debating whether or not I want to keep this all in Joe's pov or if I should alternate chapters/sections with Bookers pov as well! Let me know what you think :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! I'm sorry it's so short, I just got too excited to not post it! Hope you enjoy!

Joe knocks on the door, knuckles hitting the wood almost softly, like it would be better if Booker doesn’t know he’s there waiting. He hears the rattling of glass bottles distantly on the other side of the door and heat floods through his veins; he knocks again, harder. He has half a mind to bang on the door with a closed fist, but before he can work himself up to it, the door’s sliding open. Booker doesn’t realize it’s him at first. His eyes are down at their feet and a rough demand to be left alone is halfway from his lips when he pauses and his head snaps up, looking Joe in the eyes.

He looks awful. Joe’s heart clenches in his chest and his eyes narrow as he looks him over. He’s greasy, unshaven, and dressed in wrinkled, loose clothes. His eyes are bloodshot and wide in surprise. His mouth falls open in a slight gape and Joe has an all-encompassing desire to hit him.

Joe takes a step forward and Booker steps back, stepping to the side to silently welcome Joe in. The small apartment doesn’t fare much better than Booker does. It smells stale, like there isn’t much movement inside and as Joe steps in deeper, he sees a cluster of alcohol bottles beside a lone armchair. There’s a half-eaten meal sitting at the table, but when Joe glances back to Booker, he’s certain it wasn’t a recent meal.

Booker’s breath upticks in the silence. Joe feels his body heat as he grits his teeth. He was supposed to be _growing_. Or trying to at the very least. He was supposed to be making himself _better._ Repenting. Instead he’s spent the months Joe has been hurting, drowning himself in the bottom of a bottle.

Joe doesn’t have the words to describe his feelings as he watches Booker lean against the wall. He crosses his arms, feeling a childish urge to shove him and watch him fall to the ground.

“When?” Booker asks, voice cracking, and it startles Joe out of the anger misting his vision.

“What?” Joe asks sharply, face twisting into a frown. Booker flinches at his tone and Joe watches as tears fill his eyes.

“When did it happen?”

“What are you talking about?”

Booker raises his eyes and meets his gaze, eyes flitting between his. Joe gets to watch as his eyes stay shiny, but confusion pushes his eyebrows down.

“Is Andy okay?” he asks, almost hesitantly and Joe nods, slowly at first and then stronger as realization sweeps over him.

“She’s fine,” he says in reassurance. Booker exhales sharply and looks up at the ceiling, blinking hard, and then looks back in Joe’s direction, but unable to meet his eye again. He’s voiceless, but he regains some of his balance. He straights his shoulders and lets his legs hold his weight. The urge to shove him grows and Joe’s hands clench around his biceps.

“What are you doing here?” he asks softly and Joe looks around the apartment again, because he can’t bear to look at Booker any longer. He just wants to see something, just one thing, proving Booker was making any effort.

“I don’t know,” Joe says and his voice is hard, flat. He feels a desperate, cruel laugh catch in his throat. “I wanted to see you.”

In the edge of his eyesight he sees Booker shift and Joe immediately directs his full attention back on him, taking a half-step back to counter Booker’s half-step forward.

“I wanted to see how you were changing,” Joe says and the words escape him like poison burning his mouth. “But I see you are incapable of that.”

Booker flinches at that and Joe feels a stab somewhere below his ribcage. Heat rushes through him so quickly his hands feel cold. He clenches his fists to bring blood back to them.

“It’s been less than a year,” Booker says in defense, like Joe doesn’t have the exact amount of days scrawled on his heart. As if time would give him an excuse to stop living. As if Joe hasn’t watched his family pull themselves together by frayed strings and sewn everything up in a mockery of what it should’ve been. As if Booker wasn’t the one who tore everything apart with his bare hands.

The vicious laugh fights its way out of his chest and he tears his eyes away from Booker to gesture around them.

“Yes, and there’s no need to start amends, right? Not when drinking yourself to death is so much easier.”

_“Easier?”_ Booker bites out and for the first time, his tone is short.

“I wasn’t supposed to see you for a _century_ —” he says, face twisted and Joe mirrors him.

“That’s not an excuse—” Joe starts, turning angrily to step further into the living room, and Booker scoffs, or chokes. Joe doesn’t stop to check.

“How old are these?” Joe demands, knocking the bottles laying haphazardly around with his foot. The bottles roll and _tink_ softly against each other.

“That’s none of your business.”

Now Joe scoffs, rolling his eyes and shoulders with big, exaggerated gestures. He wishes he had something to do with his hands.

“You’re such an asshole,” he says with a huff, turning to look deeper into the apartment. It’s spoken soft enough to be under his breath, but Booker hears him clearly in the small space.

“Why are you here?” Booker growls instead of rising to the bait. Fury races down Joe’s spine like lightening. His shoulders draw tight and he turns, waving his arms.

“I don’t fucking know!” he nearly shouts and Booker has the nerve to roll his eyes.

“You came here for a reason, Joe! You didn’t just stumble here on accident. What do you fucking want from me?”

“I want you to apologize!”

Joe takes a sharp breath in as the words escape him before he can think about it. Nile’s words from all those months ago filter through his mind and his stomach churns uncomfortably. This isn’t how this was supposed to go and he misses her suddenly. He wants all of them to be here with him and fiercely wishes he hadn’t turned down Nile’s offer to accompany him.

“Oh,” Booker says, voice sickly sweet with mockery and Joe is struck with the realization he’s never argued with Booker drunk before. It sends his heart racing. “Has Nile been wearing off on you?”

It’s irrational, but Joe never wants to hear Nile’s name in Booker’s mouth again. He hasn’t earned the right to know her. There’s a pain in his jaw at how hard he clenches his teeth and forces himself to relax. If Booker doesn’t want to give an apology, then Joe will take a pound of flesh instead.

He squares his shoulders and takes a deliberately deep breath. It’s not the first time he’s fought Booker – won’t even be the first time he fights him upset, but this might be the first time fury tints his vision. He wants Booker to know the depth to the hurt and misery swirling inside him. 

Booker’s eyes spark to life as Joe centers himself and Joe wonders if he needs this, too. Booker straightens his spine and adrenaline rushes through Joe, clearing the fog from his mind and seemingly slowing time. He’s aware of the room size from his previous surveying; he can identify obvious weapons as well as where Booker probably hid more. His eyes don’t leave Booker, watching his stance and preparing to make the first move. Booker shifts on his heels, eyes narrowing as he analyzes Joe. His shaking hands clench into fists and Joe takes a deep, steadying breath.

Then all the fight leaves him.

Booker’s hands are shaking.

Joe’s shoulders sag and his arms fall limp at his side. “Fuck you, Booker,” he says, voice wet with emotion.

Booker just narrows his eyes and relaxes his stance as hesitant confusion overtakes his features.

“Was any of it real?” Joe asks. The question slips out without conscious thought, but as soon as it leaves his lips he realizes his existence is dependent on the answer.

Booker’s eyes flicker between Joe’s as he tries to understand the sudden change and when Joe opens his mouth to clarify, he has to clear his throat around the knot there.

“The… us. We…” Joe growls as the words he usually commands so easily escapes him. Booker stays silent while Joe rounds together his racing thoughts.

“You were my best friend,” he says finally, blinking and looking away from Booker. “For nearly two hundred years I had you at my side. The times we spent apart, were spent missing you.”

He feels as though he’s flaying himself open and he’s terrified to find out if Booker will take this opportunity to sew him closed or to rip him open further.

“We were side by side for lifetimes. We went to battle together, and ate together, and slept together. I- I loved you, Booker. You were my brother. I used to think we were a family; I thought, as certain as the sun will always rise, that I had Nicky, I had Andy, and I- I had you.” Joe finds the strength to look back at Booker and finds the man’s blurry through his tears. He refuses to let them spill and blinks carefully until his vision clears. Booker’s eyes are red-rimmed and he’s back to needing something to steady him; his hand is pressed against the wall and Joe feels achingly empty.

“Did you know?” Joe asks, voice cracking. “Did you know how much we loved you?”

Now Booker looks away and Joe watches as his jaw clenches. The space between them feels huge. Joe wishes he knew how to close it.

“Yes.”

It feels like a body blow.

“And that still wasn’t enough.” It’s not a question, but he has to say it to make it real in his mind. He spent all this time wondering how he could’ve let Booker think he was alone and inventing scenarios that would’ve changed the course of history, if only so Booker wouldn’t want to die so badly, but there was nothing more he could’ve done. He knew, but it still wasn’t enough.

“I’m sorry, Yusuf,” Booker says, voice breaking and Joe watches with a detached gaze as Booker’s legs buckle. He catches his balance before he falls to his knees. “It wasn’t supposed to—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Joe says sharply, voice steely and unyielding. Booker shifts his eyes to Joe’s boots and nods, falling silent immediately. Joe wants to hate him. He wants so _badly_ to hate him, but he can’t. He knows that for as long as he lives he will love Booker and that hatred he wishes to conjure for the man in front of him is directed inward for it. The strength of it makes his breath catch.

“I am sorry,” Booker says after a moment of quiet and Joe exhales sharply. He thought this was supposed to make him feel better. It just hurts worse. He wants to leave and retreat home to burrow into Nicky’s arms until his heart is strong enough to handle this; he wants to be surrounded by the people who fortify him, not stuck with the one who has torn him to pieces.

He looks around Booker’s sad apartment and then looks at the sad man before him. If Joe leaves for another hundred years, he’s not sure who he’ll be when he returns. He’s not sure who he’d be returning to, either. The Booker-shaped hole in his heart thrums. He knows who Booker is. _He knows who Booker is_.

“I can’t do this, Book,” Joe says softly and Booker’s eyes raise to meet his. The spark’s gone. He’s retreated back into this shell of a man, filled to the brim with sorrow. Joe thinks, for one heart-stopping moment, he gets it. He understands.

“I’m not going to spend a hundred years growing without you.”

“Stop it, Joe,” Booker says, blinking hard and shaking his head like that will stop the words from taking root there. Joe feels shaky, like he’s still healing from a death wound. He can’t leave this shell here to rot.

“The others agree.”

Booker’s eyes are wide when they open to meet Joe’s and Joe’s exhausted. Fatigue and heartache push on his shoulders, try to bring him to his knees, and he wants to give in and crumble, but some part of him is afraid of showing that to Booker. He straightens his spine and sets his jaw.

“Go shower,” Joe orders. “Shave. Pack. I’ll be outside.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he strides past Booker and out the door. He moves on autopilot to the car without seeing or hearing the sounds around him. His body hums when he sits and he puts his hands on the steering wheel because they feel too heavy in his lap; his eyes stare out the window unseeingly as they fill with the tears he couldn’t shed in Booker’s apartment. Numbness pinpricks its way across his skin and leaves him feeling raw and exposed like a nerve. He takes a deep breath in and it escapes as a sob as he leans against the steering wheel and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't anticipate updates being this rapid usually, but I'll try to have the next chapter up soon!! Let me know what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

Booker watches Joe leave and follows him with his eyes until he’s out of sight before he shuts the door. Anxiety thrums in his chest at the sound of the door clicking closed and fear chills him. Now that he’s gone, there’s no proof Joe had been here; Booker’s not wholly sure he didn’t imagine him.

There’s a glass of cheap scotch by his sink and it calls out to him like a siren. He wants to go to it, but he runs his hands through his hair instead, fisting his hand in the greasy strands and letting the pressure center him.

 _Shower. Shave. Pack._ Simple instructions. He can do that.

Or, he should be able to do that, but when he finds himself standing in his bathroom, the task feels impossible. He reaches over and turns on the water, standing still as steam fills the small room. The humidity catches in his lungs and makes him cough.

He knows Joe was here. He _knows_ it, but he can’t shake the feeling it was an ordeal that only existed in his head. It feels like his imagination because he doesn’t know why Joe would’ve shown up otherwise. Booker had lost track of time, falling in and out of drunken stupors, but he knows it hasn’t been even a fraction of what his sentence was. Is. He can’t figure out why they’d want him back so soon when one hundred years was generous of them.

Slowly, he strips out of his clothes and lets them fall to the floor. He kicks them into a crumpled pile beside the toilet. The act of undressing wanes him of any energy he’d mustered and it takes him some more time before he can step under the spray. The water’s hot and bites into his skin, coloring it pink where it burns before he heals.

He thinks he should be embarrassed by the single bar of soap he has sitting on the side of the tub, but the thought passes before he can muster the energy to do so. He grabs it and runs it lazily across his body before lathering it in his hands and rubbing the soap through his hair.

It feels as though a fog has covered his mind, making his thoughts seem distant and fuzzy and he has a hard time deciphering them. He just wishes he could _understand_.

The water cools suddenly and he shivers at the temperature change. He still has to shave, but the chill saps the movement from his limbs and his arms hang uselessly at his side.

His eyes drift out of focus and unbidden, he thinks of the time he’d fallen in a frozen lake. They’d been marching through a blizzard, trying to find shelter, when he’d made one wrong move and shattered too-thin ice below his feet. There had been an earth shattering crack in warning before he disappeared into the dark depths below. He’d gasped on instinct, then, taking in a lungful of frozen water and disorienting him so greatly he couldn’t tell which way was up.

Now, he holds his breath as he moves his face under the cold stream.

Andy had jumped in after him. He remembers it being instantaneous; one moment he’s drowning, the next he’s being pushed up through thin ice reforming over the hole he’d made. He’d been too stiff to move. Joe and Nicky pulled them out of the water and bundled them tightly between them. Andy had grinned at him before Nicky guided her head to his neck and Joe did the same for him. His skin had gone numb almost instantly and Joe’s skin had felt like a furnace against him. Now the water’s not cold enough to numb him. It just stings.

_Did you know how much we loved you?_

Booker flinches as Joe’s words come back to his mind and he scrambles, reaching over for the faucet and twisting it off. The water stops with a squeak and Booker rests one hand on the tub side, panting. Shivers wrack through his body and his teeth chatter in his head. The porcelain is cold under his palm, but that doesn’t stop him from falling to his knees.

He did. He did, he did, he did. He knew what he had, but he threw it all away. And now he’s lost it.

He loses time, stuck on his knees in his shower, but when he comes back to his body, he finds the strength to push himself to his feet and reach for the hand towel by the sink. It didn’t occur to him to grab a larger towel, so he runs it over his face and then dries his hair with it before dropping it to the floor beside his clothes and moving to his bedroom.

His hands still tremble with a cold that’s sunk into his bones and he pulls on clothes without thinking, shifting uncomfortably as they grow damp with the water on his skin. His go-bag is already packed and waiting under his bed; he grabs it, spares one last look around the room, and then leaves. He should clean up; there are dishes in the sink and trash to go out, but he’s not totally unconvinced he won’t be back in a day’s time.

Hell, Joe might’ve already left him.

The thought was supposed to be a joke, but spikes of ice shoot through his chest. He looks for a clock, but then realizes he doesn’t even know when Joe showed up, let alone how long it’s been since then. Fear drapes over his shoulders like a cloak. What if he took too long? What if Joe decided to leave without him? He’d already been dizzyingly hot and cold – looking ready to fight one minute and cry the next – maybe he realized what a bad idea it was to find him, to bring him home, and _left_.

Booker feels like he’s wading through a tide as he reaches the door and he tries to slow his racing heart.

If that’s what happened, if he walks outside and doesn’t see Joe, then he’ll just- he’ll just walk back into his apartment. He’ll be fine.

He takes his time locking the door, testing the knob to make sure it won’t open. He wants to stretch the time he gets to exist in a world where he doesn’t have to know if Joe’s given up on him or not.

He walks around the building towards the parking lot, trying not to drag his feet as he follows the path Joe had taken. He holds his breath as his eyes roam over the cars in the lot and his heart sinks lower and lower as he comes up empty, until he sees Joe in a beat up little car facing the road. His breath leaves him in a rush.

Joe’s not looking at him; he’s faced away from the apartment building and watching down the street, so Booker taps on the window in warning before opening the door.

Joe’s silent as he turns to watch Booker climb into the car and Booker determinedly doesn’t meet his eye.

“Is that it?” Joe asks and Booker can’t identify the tone there.

He nods. Any words he might’ve had to say stay clumped in his throat and Joe doesn’t say anything else before turning the car on and pulling out onto the road.

The hum of the car’s engine is the only sound on their drive and Booker isn’t sure if it’s the leftover chill from the shower that sends goosebumps racing across his skin or if it’s the unease of having Joe silent beside him. Joe’s always been personable. Charming. Always the one to talk first, the one to encourage others to talk. There’s an inescapable magnetism to Joe that draws people close to him. Even now, when Booker can’t figure out what to make of the silence, he can’t stop his eyes from darting to Joe and taking in his profile in quick, stolen glances like he might be denied if caught.

The drive feels both too long and too short. They pass through city after city and before he’s prepared, Joe’s pulling off the main roads and into a suburb. He’s confident in his navigation; it’s clear they’ve been in the area for a while, long enough to get an understandings of the streets and shortcuts. Joe slows the car to a stop in front of a new house and a part of Booker wonders if they got it so he couldn’t find them. The thought hurts, but it’s fair.

Joe turns the car off and unbuckles his seatbelt in one smooth motion, sliding out of his seat like he can’t escape fast enough. Booker follows at a slower pace, reaching back in to grab his duffle bag off the floorboard. When he straightens, Joe’s looking at him and then looks sharply up at the house like he’d heard someone call his name, before looking back at Booker with a furrowed brow. He wants to look away, but he’s trapped under Joe’s hard gaze. A shaky exhale escapes him when Joe finally looks away and back at the house, dropping his eyes to the sidewalk beneath Joe’s feet. Joe moves and Booker goes to follow him, but it feels like he’s moving through molasses. His feet stick to the ground and the normal two-story home grows daunting the closer he gets to it.

Joe opens the door and suddenly Booker doesn’t want to go in.

Somehow, he keeps moving forward.

Joe doesn’t wait for him and Booker watches as he retreats further into the house before turning into a room out of view. Booker closes the door and locks the knob on instinct as his eyes sweep around what he can see, identifying points of entry out of habit, before ducking his head and resolutely not looking around. There are pictures on the walls and clutter on the side table and his chest aches at knowing this home is theirs and theirs alone.

He can hear their voices and he moves towards them without conscious thought. Their words are hushed, but their tone carries as he nears the kitchen, where Joe disappeared off to, and his heart chokes him. He hesitates in the doorway as the last of their quick conversation falls away and he swallows hard against the nausea churning in his stomach.

Joe has his back to the door, with Nicky and Nile sandwiching him between them like two fortresses and Andy standing across from him, facing the doorway and Booker like a guardian. Joe stays hunched over the island in the middle of the kitchen and doesn’t move when the rest turn to look at him.

There’s a smothering moment of silence where they all stare at each other and Booker avoids looking them in the eye, like they might shatter whatever’s left of his soul and leave him more damned than he is if he has to see the raw emotion there.

“Hey, Booker,” Nile says softly. He wants to return the greeting, but Joe’s exposed back _hurts_ , watching Nicky tighten a hand protectively around Joe’s bicep hurts, watching Nile’s own hand lay over Joe’s splayed fingers in comfort hurts. The words catch and die in his throat and he clears them away with a cough, nodding at her instead.

He’s curling under the weight of their gaze and he wishes he had enough strength to straighten, to take whatever they give him with dignity, but he’s never been good at that.

Andy moves and Booker freezes as she comes towards him. He holds himself stiffly so he doesn’t reach out to her when she approaches and he feels his heart stutter to a stop in his chest when she touches his arm before shooting off at a pace so quick and loud he’s sure the others hear.

“Come on,” Andy says and he hardly hears her around the blood rushing in his ears. She nudges him and he turns, following her out of the room, but not before giving them a second look over his shoulder and being carved through at the sight of Nicky already turned away with only Nile’s sad eyes meeting his. He looks away quickly and nearly trips over his own feet as he reorients himself. Andy gives him a brief look and Booker misses the questions or teases she should’ve had for him.

She leads him upstairs and pushes open a door, stepping aside so Booker could walk into the bedroom. He does and his eyes catch the artwork and trinkets that lovingly fill the space that very clearly belongs to Andy. His heart sinks into his stomach.

“This is your room,” he says. The words are heavy and clumsy in his mouth; he sounds like he’d spent the whole ride back to them drinking.

“Yeah, I’m gonna room with Nile until we get everything figured out,” Andy says with a shrug and Booker frowns.

“C’mon, boss,” he says, the familiar title falling from his lips before he can even question if he has any right to call her that anymore. “I can’t take your room.”

“Where else are you gonna sleep then?” Andy asks with an eyebrow raised. He knows she’s baiting him. Her tone’s almost playful and Booker just barely keeps from flinching at the normality there. He thinks he knows what he’d say before; there’s a script and he remembers his lines, but that part of him that used to exist with them is too far hidden for him to even find a shadow of now.

“I don’t know,” he admits truthfully instead, slowly getting more desperate. “I can sleep in the car or, or outside—”

“We’re not making you sleep outside, Book,” Andy says with exasperation, shoulders tightening and Booker wonders if she wants to hit him. “Just take the room.”

He wants to argue, but thinks he knows better than to do that.

Any fight within him leaves and he grits his teeth as he looks around the room again. Behind him Andy sighs and he swallows dryly at the sound.

“Have you eaten?” she asks, sounding as though she’s grasping at straws to find something to say. But what is there to say to the man who shot her and risked the lives of everyone she loved?

Booker’s stomach clenches and he shakes his head, looking over in her direction, but unable to brave looking at her directly. She sighs again and he can’t stop the small flinch at her exhaustion.

“Come down when you’re ready. We’ll fix something up.”

She turns and leaves before he can even protest. His stomach has worked itself into knots and he hasn’t been hungry in days. Truthfully, he knows eating anything now will only result in its reappearance later, but he’s in no position to deny her anything.

Instead, he turns and places his bag on the edge of the bed delicately. The sheets smell like fresh fabric softener and Booker doesn’t know why tears pinprick the back of his eyes at that. The smell of her would hardly make him feel better.

He clears his throat and scratches at his arm before unzipping his bag. There’s only a few pairs of jeans inside, rolled into tight balls, and a handful of shirts treated the same way. He has a meager toiletry set in a zipped baggie that’s fallen to the bottom, resting beside two pocket knives and an extra clip to the gun in his waist band.

Andy’s room is big with a tall dresser and a decent sized closet, but Booker doesn’t look around for space. He shakes out his clothes and refolds them into squares to set them on top of the dresser. It’ll be simple enough to repack them when he has to.

He moves back to Andy’s bed and sinks to the floor beside it. There’s a bone-deep tiredness that washes over him and he leans his head back against the mattress to stare out a window on the far wall. The blinds are open and he stares through them at the dusty sunset. It’s a cloudy orange and only lasts a moment before the sun sets lower on the horizon and the sky turns into a muted blue that grows darker with each passing minute. 

Time morphs around him and he jolts suddenly at the sound of a knock on the doorframe. He pokes his head over the bed and sees Nile standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the hall light casting a yellow glow into the dark bedroom. Nile reaches in and flicks the switch next to her and Booker squints as the overhead light blinds him.

“You okay?” she asks, brows furrowing for just a moment. Her eyes are dark and serious; Booker swallows hard, wondering briefly if he makes her nervous, before nodding. Nile doesn’t look like she believes him and he clears his throat.

“Yeah, yeah I was just…” he trails off, gesturing out the now-darkened window and Nile’s eyes flicker quickly to it and then back to him.

“Okay,” she says once it’s clear he isn’t going to continue and Booker watches as her eyes dart around on his face. He’s suddenly aware that he’d been told to shave and resists the urge to scratch at the beard overtaking his face.

“Well, dinner’s ready,” she says and tosses a thumb over her shoulder. “We ordered pizza.”

Booker nods, once again falling silent. It’s been so long since he’s had to talk to anyone, the words refuse to come out anymore. She hesitates in the doorway before turning to walk back down the stairs. He listens to her soft footfalls until she reaches the bottom landing, then he stands and straightens his clothes to follow after her.

The pizza boxes are in the dining room and when Booker enters, it seems like they notice as a unit that there are only four chairs. Unease winds around his heart and twists. There’s a pause before Nile shifts and says, “Who’s up for a movie night?”

Andy sends her a smile and Booker looks away, but doesn’t miss the way Nicky shifts into Nile’s space and bumps her shoulder with his.

Nile leads the way into the living room and Nicky waits for Joe before the two of them disappear from view. Andy lingers behind, watching him with a raised brow until he reaches for a single slice and sliding it on a paper plate before she leaves to join the others. Booker feels sick and pushes past the numbness in his limbs.

They’re seated by the time he enters the living room and he licks at his dried lips as he looks around. Andy and Joe take the ends of the couch with Nicky between them. Andy’s twisted so her back is to the arm and her legs are tucked up underneath Nicky’s thighs. Nile’s sitting in a chair he recognizes from the Oscar house in Germany. He remembers finding it at a thrift store and lugging at all the way back on foot with Nicky laughing at him for the first mile because Andy and Joe had taken the car, but then carrying one side while Booker took the other for the rest of the way. Despair climbs up his spine and settles at the base of his throat. That was _his_ chair.

He moves around the room and settles stiffly in the other chair opposite her, making conscious effort not to hunch his shoulders. Nile gives him a small smile before turning on the TV and finding something mindless to watch.

They’re quiet while they eat and Booker tries not to think about how, even a year ago, the four of them would’ve been loudly deriding the flashy explosions and yelling over the cheesy one-liners. He tries to take a bite of his pizza slice and finds it takes like ash in his mouth. He rests the plate on his lap and casts furtive glances around at the rest of them; Joe’s not eating either. He can’t stop the spike of guilt that races through him at that.

He waits until the credits scroll up the screen before he shifts and stands. His back pops as his stiff joints finally relax and he looks down at their plates.

“Do you want me to get th—”

“No,” Nicky says before he can finish his sentence, looking up at Booker with carefully sharp eyes. “I got it.”

Booker nods and pulls his hand back to his side. He feels their eyes burn into him and he doesn’t look around at them when he turns to leave. He tosses his plate in the trash and stares back in the direction of the living room before moving towards the stairs.

He thought he was ready for this. Every part of him cried out at his betrayal and what he lost and he’d thought he’d be glad to be back home, ached for it even, but the suffocating silence has shriveled up any desire left alive in him. He’d rather have his last memory of them be yelling at him, be of them walking away after saying he could be eventually redeemed. Something that would show they feel _anything_ for him.

Booker lays on top of the covers, not bothering to change out of his clothes. He props a pillow under his shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for the nightmares to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I hope you enjoyed this! Getting into Bookers POV was harder than I thought it would be haha hope it didn't disappoint! 
> 
> \--


	4. Chapter 4

They listen to Booker’s soft footsteps go up the stairs and Joe doesn’t feel the tension leak out of his muscles until he hears the soft click of Andy’s bedroom door being shut. It feels like the strings holding him upright have been cut and he curls into the back of the couch, shoulders falling into a slump as his breathing comes easier.

“That could’ve gone worse,” Andy says softly and runs a hand through her hair, forcing it out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. “I’m getting a drink.”

Joe looks over with just his eyes as she uncurls from her seat and steps around them to move toward the kitchen without another word. Nicky stands after she’s gone and silently gathers their plates. Joe watches him through his lashes with heavy eyes and Nicky makes a point of ignoring the attention until he tisks softly at seeing Joe’s uneaten slice. He meets Joe’s gaze and raises one eyebrow.

“You didn’t eat,” he chides softly and Joe just swallows. His eyes go to the side, looking away from Nicky, and he catches Nile watching the two of them with a careful look in her eye. Nicky sighs softly and leaves, carrying their plates in one hand and scratching at his arm with the other. Joe follows Nicky’s retreating back to avoid Nile’s attentive look.

“What happened?” she asks after surveying him and finding no answers to her internal questions. He looks at her and feels guilt peck at his chest at the worry on her face. “You were… I thought you’d be happier?”

Joe looks down at his hands; his fingers are trembling. He doesn’t even feel them. He folds them together and shoves them between his legs like he can hide from her.

“He- He wasn’t getting better.”

It feels like he’s picked at a scab, like he has torn newly healed flesh and now is watching it bleed.

“I didn’t think he would,” Nile says softly, almost to herself, and Joe bristles. He wants to know why she wouldn’t have said anything, why she would have let him go, why she stayed silent for this long; but just as quickly as the anger flares, it dies.

He’s not angry at Nile.

Instead, his breath escapes him in a humorless huff. A bitter smile twists his lips and he watches as her eyebrows twitch closer at the sight.

“We should’ve listened to you,” Joe says. He didn’t tell the others about the fight he’d had or about what was said, he didn’t tell them why he was so upset when he came home, but the memory settles heavy in his heart.

“No,” Nile argues, soft but firm. “This was… messy. There’s no reason to think it would’ve gone over any better if he’d been with us the whole time. This break was what everyone needed. Just because Booker didn’t handle it well, doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Joe nods at her and swallows hard. She’s right, but her calm insistence eats under his skin. He almost wishes she’d be angry at him. He wants to be yelled at and blamed, if only to have the catharsis of yelling back. Nile was _right_ ; Joe wanted an apology and that’s what Nile said should happen. She’d known leaving Booker alone was a bad idea, but they still did it anyway. Where is the upset? The anger? The righteous fury he deserved for not listening?

His chest collapses; breathing is hard like he's broken a rib and pierced a lung.

“I asked him to apologize,” Joe confesses and the tension in his chest eases. “I didn’t know what to do when I got there. I told him I wanted an apology.”

Nile smiles softly, lips upturned in a sad press.

“Did he?”

The encounter flashes through him like a supernova. He hears Booker’s drunken voice twist Nile’s name into a mockery and talk to him like a child. He thinks of the excuse that was so quick to fall from Booker’s lips and wants to say _no he didn’t_ , but then he thinks of the way Booker said _I am sorry_ and how the words were dragged out of him like his whole soul was being shoved through a grinder.

“Yes,” Joe says and Nile tilts her head. Joe’s insides twist like he’d swallowed live snakes.

“Do you believe him?”

“I want to,” Joe says and his voice cracks. Nile shifts to lean forward, resting her elbows on her knees and turning her head to look into Joe’s eyes.

“Well, maybe we start there.”

Nicky and Andy choose that moment to return. They’re quiet and Joe looks up to catch red-rimmed eyes and a glass of hard liquor in their hands. Nile leans back in her chair to let Andy through and Joe does the same for Nicky. Joe watches Nicky follow their movement, but it’s obvious he and Andy had their own private conversation, so he’ll let Joe and Nile’s go without question.

Andy hesitates at the chair Booker had been sitting it, her usual seat, but doesn’t sit and reclaims her spot on the end of the couch. Joe wonders if she’d feel strange sitting there, like Booker’s heavy spirit was still there looking over her shoulder. The empty seat chills like a haunting.

Nicky nudges Joe out of his thoughts with a touch to the knee and Joe looks up at him and feels oddly delicate when Nicky sits so their thighs are touching. He feels protected, hidden away from dangers by Nicky’s broad shoulders, and the warmth from Nicky’s thigh spreads through him, anchoring him to the present.

“How’s everyone feeling after dinner?” Andy asks and in another life, Joe would laugh at the care she’s showing them; checking up on their feelings every hour like a teacher to school children. Now it just makes bile burn the back of his throat.

“This isn’t gonna be easy,” Nile mutters and Joe nods once in agreement.

“I thought— I’d hoped—it would feel more like normal,” Joe confesses. There’s a pregnant pause at his words as they try to remember what that was like.

“We have to figure out what to do with him,” Andy says eventually. Nicky stiffens at his side and shifts, pressing his shoulder against Joe’s as he turns to look at Andy.

“He should stay,” Nicky says and Joe jolts, looking over at his husband with wide eyes. He’d thought Nicky had surprised him when he’d agreed to dinner, that was nothing to the emotion Joe’s feeling now. He feels hot and cold at the same time, his heart jackrabbits in his chest and he feels like he’s falling.

“I just think… it’s important he get to spend time with you, sí?” Nicky says, looking at Andy and then turns his head to Nile. “And for you to know him. I won’t—I don’t wish for my feelings to deny you anything.”

He pauses and looks down at the coffee table in front of him, then continues with a tone like steel, “and I’d feel better, knowing I can keep an eye on him.”

That, at least, makes sense.

The snakes inside him bite and Joe almost wants to argue just to be contradictory because someone else should be as confused as he feels.

“Joe?” she asks and he hates the tone of her voice, like he’s the weak link and needs to be talked to carefully. Like he’ll break with the slightest pressure.

“I’m the one who brought him back,” he says. He can see her frown around Nicky’s shoulders.

“You still get a say in whether he stays here or if he finds an apartment nearby.”

Joe’s breath feels too hot escaping him; he wonders if they could see steam. He doesn’t know what he wants and he digs his fingers into his thighs. Nile’s bright optimism shines like the north star and Joe’s eyes flicker to her for just a moment.

“He can stay.”

\--

They spend more time talking about what to expect from Booker and it feels like having a tooth pulled. He’s numbed, certain there should be feeling where there isn’t, there’s excruciating pressure, and then nothing but the odd feeling of emptiness, of being raw without bleeding.

It’s not obscenely late when they stand for bed, but Joe’s exhaustion is bone deep.

Nile and Andy wish them goodnight before disappearing into Nile’s room and Joe hesitates in the hallway outside of his, looking at the closed door of Andy’s room. He feels a sudden urge to open it. There’s a rising panic that seems to build from his rooted feet that if he doesn’t go look now, then Booker might not be there. He almost takes a step towards the door, when he hears Nicky call out from inside the room.

“Yusuf?” Nicky says softly, peering to look at him. “Come, my heart, let’s go to bed.”

Joe goes to him without conscious thought, moving like a sailor to a siren.

Nicky’s by the dresser getting into a clean t-shirt and sweatpants when Joe wraps his arms around his waist and rests his head against his shoulder. Joe can feel Nicky’s steady breaths against his face, the rise and fall of his chest on his own, and Joe tries to match it. He wonders if his slowing heartbeat matches Nicky’s as well.

Nicky presses a kiss to Joe’s temple and Joe squeezes his eyes closed, nuzzling his face into Nicky’s neck to breathe in the soothing scent of his husband.

\--

Joe wakes to Nicky tracing gentle, lazy shapes on his arms. The pad of his fingers tickle him and he shivers as chills race across his arms. Nicky’s fingers stop and he lays his hand flat on Joe’s arm, giving him a soft squeeze.

“Good morning,” Nicky says and Joe stretches against him, curling his toes and arching his spine as his back pops.

Nicky laughs and wiggles closer to Joe’s front and Joe curls around Nicky again, holding him tightly in his arms before rolling so he’s resting half on top of him, propped up by his arms bracketing Nicky’s head.

“I take it you slept well,” Nicky says with a smile. His eyes roam over Joe’s face for an instant before he surges up to kiss Joe. Joe hums into the kiss and breaks it with his smile.

“Very,” he says and finds it’s true. It’s the first time he’s had a solid, dreamless sleep in what feels like months. He feels rejuvenated. Reanimated. Nicky raises his hands to wrap around Joe’s wrists and holds onto him, staring into his eyes.

“I’m glad, my love,” Nicky says sincerely and moves his head to kiss at Joe’s wrist next to his face. He holds Joe’s gaze and Joe shivers as heat rushes through him. It pools in his belly and he leans down to nibble at the now-exposed skin of Nicky’s neck.

Nicky huffs a laugh and moves his head to give Joe even easier access; Joe straddles him, lips never leaving Nicky’s skin, and Nicky wiggles his hips as Joe rests on his knees. He bites down on Nicky’s neck in response and grinds down.

“Yusuf,” Nicky says, voice suddenly deep and Joe’s breath hitches as his heart races. He wonders if Nicky can feel it in his pulse, where deft fingers are still wrapped around his wrist tightly.

“Nicolò,” Joe replies and kisses the spot just under Nicky’s ear. Nicky shivers at the contact and Joe grins, scuffing his beard against Nicky’s soft skin. He earns a hip thrust for his efforts.

Nicky moves his head, capturing Joe’s lips in his own again, and runs his hands up Joe’s arm and across his back to grab at him and pull him closer. Joe goes down to his elbows and falls chest to chest with Nicky.

He’s overcome with emotion as love blossoms in his chest so swiftly it leaves him feeling tingly. As though their souls respond to being so close and vibrate with excitement at being joined. He loves this man more than anything; Nicky invokes more emotion in him than any man has right feeling. He would do anything for him with no hesitation. If Nicky had wanted him to move mountains, Joe would spend eternity shifting shovelful after shovelful of rock until the horizon was to his liking. He thinks he could spend the rest of his life, and the rest of what comes after, comparing Nicky’s beauty and kindness to the world around him and he would never run out of words.

“I love you,” Joe murmurs against his skin as heat rushes through him. He feels like he’s back in the desert, but this time the sun is inside him and he imagines wherever he touches leaves the imprint of his fingerprints. “I love you like a fish loves the sea, like the harvest loves the rain, like the flowers love the sun; and I need you just as desperately.”

Nicky moans low in his throat and his fingers dig into the muscles on Joe’s back.

“Ever the poet,” Nicky says and Joe can hear the smile in his voice.

Joe moves his hands to roam down Nicky’s side, finding the hem of his shirt and sliding his hands under it. Nicky bites at Joe’s lip and then his hands shift on Joe’s back and that’s all the warning he gets before Nicky’s flipping them. Joe wiggles to find a comfortable position for both of them and grins when Nicky’s knees pin him in place. Joe places his hands on Nicky’s thighs and watches as Nicky’s eyes grow dark with want.

Joe learned long ago he can’t out wait Nicky and so he bucks his hips lightly to urge the man to move. Nicky’s answering grin is wide and he leans down to capture Joe in a kiss that leaves him panting for air around them. Joe’s hands roam over Nicky’s back over the shirt and then grabs the hem and pulls it up. Nicky shifts to slide his arms out while spending as little time not kissing Joe as possible.

Joe tosses the shirt across the room and grabs greedily at Nicky’s warm skin. He’s suddenly aware of his own shirt creating a barrier between their chests and if the power of his thoughts meant anything in this world, the shirt would’ve been reduced to ash instantly.

Nicky seems to come to the same conclusion because moments later he’s grabbing at Joe’s hemline and says, “get this off.”

Joe’s never been one to deny Nicky.

Nicky lets him sit up, but doesn’t move from his spot on Joe’s lap and Joe yanks the shirt off his head and sends it blindly in the direct he’d just tossed Nicky’s. The moment he’s free, Nicky grabs him and kisses him. They fall backward and their foreheads bump as Joe bounces a little against the mattress. They laugh and Joe brings up a hand to cradle Nicky’s forehead before Nicky gently shakes him off and kisses Joe’s own forehead tenderly.

Nicky opens his mouth to speak when a loud crash comes from the kitchen. Before they can work themselves into worry, they hear Nile’s emphatic cursing and worry melts into mild confusion. Nicky laughs softly and rolls his hips, pressing themselves against each other and Joe’s breath comes in a quick gasp.

“I guess we have to keep it quiet,” Nicky whispers into his ear. Joe nods and his hips jolt up against Nicky helplessly. There isn’t much time before there’s another crash, louder and longer than the first. Silence, and then one last tinkling sound of silverware hitting the floor.

“What the fuck, Andy,” Nile says in loud exasperation and Nicky leans his head down and laughs softly into Joe’s shoulder.

“You think we can ignore that?” Joe asks hopefully and Nicky lifts his head to bump his forehead against Joe’s shoulder as Andy’s voice raises in response.

“How is this my fault?”

Nile says something too fast and low to make out through the door and then there’s a shout of indignation.

“I think not,” Nicky mutters and Joe whines low in his throat. Downstairs, there’s the sound of a body hitting the floor.

“Let’s go before they break the kitchen,” Nicky says and still it takes a moment before he can pull himself off Joe’s chest.

Joe continues to lay in bed while Nicky gets up and finds his shirt. Nicky tosses Joe’s shirt at him and it lands in a disgruntled pile on his face. Joe grabs it in a huff and then puts it on.

“I would let them,” he grumbles and Nicky laughs as he slips out the door.

\--

Downstairs, Joe gapes at the destruction.

White flour covers every surface. The bakers rack that holds their bowls and mixing utensils is knocked over. Eggs are splattered on the floor by the sink; a milk carton is leaking on the counter and dripping into the floury mess on the floor, making a wet paste.

Nile and Andy are wrestling in the midst of it.

Joe stands next to Nicky, unnoticed, in the doorway and watches as the two growl and try to pin the other to the floor. Amusement balloons in Joe’s chest and he takes a small step into the room.

“What is going on?” he asks over their wordless exclamations. They freeze and instantly point at each other.

“She started it,” they say in union and Joe marvels at his life.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Nile argues and Andy narrows her eyes.

“I didn’t even want to help!”

“Yeah,” Nile says with a dramatic look at the mayhem around them. “That much is obvious.”

“You—” Andy growls, balancing herself to launch across the slippery floor. Nile readies herself, anchoring her feet against the mess, but Nicky’s snort evaporates all antagonism in the room.

“What happened?” Nicky asks and Joe is still slack-jawed when he adds, “ _how_ did this happen?”

There’s something about the sight of Andy covered in wet flour, indignantly shouting blame over Nile’s own yells, that will stick with him forever.

“All I was trying to do was make pancakes!”

“You were _trying_ to insult me!”

“Insult!”

“You know—”

“I asked you to help _mix the batter!”_

“You threw the flour!”

“That—” Nile starts loudly then says more subdue, “that was an accident.”

There’s a pause before laughter erupts around the room, loud and contagious. Joe feels weak with it. He doubles over and chokes for breath as Nile leans heavily against the counters. Nicky’s pressed against the wall and Joe sees flour dusting on his shoulder. Andy pushes herself to her knees and half-heartedly scrapes the flour gunk off her as she looks around at them laughing.

Once their laughter starts to settle, Andy stands and extends a hand to Nile, pulling her to her feet.

“C’mon, I call first dips on the shower.” She starts to make her way delicately across the room when Nicky coughs and straightens.

“I don’t think so, boss,” he says gently, with a smirk pulling his lips. Andy raises her eyebrows at him and he continues, “you’ll clog the drains. Better to hose off outside.”

“Hose off outside,” Andy repeats slowly and then rolls her head dramatically.

“Fine, outside,” she sighs and stomps back across the room. Nile follows behind her, giggles stills bubbling out of her.

Joe looks at Nicky and shrugs with another laugh before he starts to sweep off the table. Nicky huffs in amusement before joining in.

When they come in, soaked but flourless, Nile sits delicately in a clean chair to wait while Andy moves on to the bathroom. She dries off with a hand towel Nicky hands her before standing to reach for a broom and begin sweeping while Joe wipes down the counters and Nicky loads up the dishes to be washed.

“You two really did a number here,” Joe says teasingly and Nile chuckles.

“Now I know why Andy stays out of the kitchen while we cook,” she replies and Joe barks a laugh.

“Welcome to the team, kid,” he says with a mock salute as she laughs.

\--

Andy comes down after her shower and takes over Nile’s place while she disappears to clean up. The silence with Nile was comfortable and easy; the silence with Andy is deeper, not really silence. They’ve known each other so long, they don’t need to speak to understand each other and it’s not as necessary to disappear into your own mind when the people around you can read your thoughts as clearly as if you’d spoken them.

They’re just finishing when Nile comes back into the kitchen. She crosses the room to the cabinets and looks inside. There’s a pause and Joe looks over his shoulder at her.

“Looks like we’re having toast,” she says and the laughter makes Joe feel lightheaded.

\--

Joe hadn’t noticed Booker’s absence until they’re sitting down to eat the buttered toast, but once he notices it, it’s all he can think about. It’s like someone came in and took the doors off the house and he hadn’t realized until he needed to shut them. He was feeling better, after last night; having a full night’s sleep has soothed the ache in his soul and he was starting to feel almost normal again, but now the anxiety from last night thrums through him like a low-level pulse. His eyes flicker to the doorway leading to the stairs and he wants to see Booker standing there.

He tries to keep himself present with the people he loves that surround him. He follows Nicky and Nile outside when they decide to spar and cheers them on in equal measures when they get a solid hit in, forcing his mind not to wander to the bedroom upstairs and whether or not it’s empty.

When Nicky and Nile break to eat lunch and talk about weapons, Joe steps back inside to look for Andy and finds her in the living room half-heartedly watching garbage reality TV. He sits opposite her on the couch and she offers him the bowl of popcorn she’s munching from and explains the plot. He thinks she’s making most of it up to see if he’s paying attention, but he indulges her with a grin and settles down to watch beside her.

Despite the constant stream of drama, Joe can’t get invested in it. His eyes keep drifting to the staircase. He’s certain Booker had gone upstairs last night, but if that were true, where was he? He wishes he’d have checked last night when the urge had nearly swallowed him whole. He feels like ants are crawling under his skin and he jumps when Andy extends her leg and rests her foot in his lap. He looks over at her and smiles distractedly, resting his hand on her foot and squeezes. He may not be able to focus on the show that’s playing, but he turns his attention to her foot and rubs it, kneading the sole rubbing up her ankle. He’s not sure how long he’s working on it, but eventually she pulls that foot back and tucks her toes under his thigh and plops the other on his lap. He massages it wordlessly, thankful for the distraction.

Nile and Andy leave for a few hours in the early afternoon and come back with a dining room chair that is just as mismatched as the rest of them. It fits neatly amongst the others and Joe tries not to think about that.

As dinner approaches, Nile and Nicky are moving around each other with ease as they prepare the meal while Joe sets the table, Andy disappears up the stairs. Joe tries to pretend like he’s not straining to listen as Andy knocks on her bedroom door. He hesitates with a plate in his hand as the background noise of the kitchen quiets and the only thing Joe can hear is the buzzing of silence in his ear. She knocks again, harder, and Joe feels like his heart could burst with each hit.

“Dinner’s ready in five,” Andy says and Joe could jump out of his skin. He’s here. He’s still here. Joe doesn’t know if that makes his day-long absence better or worse.

Andy stays upstairs with Booker and strength returns to Joe’s lungs. His heart beats a loud rhythm in his ears and he almost startles when he sees Andy and Booker step into the room. 

Booker looks better; the shower yesterday helped and he looks groomed at least today. He’s in fresh clothes and if Joe could overlook the exhaustion and misery in his eyes, he’d almost look normal, but the knowledge he’d spent the whole day in his room, not eating and most likely drinking, makes Joe’s heart ache.

He waits until they’re all seated before pulling out his new chair and sits quietly. His discomfort is shared and amplified around the table and the only sound is of silverware hitting ceramic. Booker picks at his food and Joe tries not to watch as he moves it around on his plate without tasting it.

The joy from this morning feels distant. Hidden. Like it belonged to some other Joe, in some other world, and he’d merely dreamt of it.

Dinner drags on and Joe’s shoulders relax out of the tense hold around his ears when they’re finally able to stop the pretenses and push their plates away.

“We’re gonna let you stay, Book,” Andy says softly and Joe can only watch as Booker jerks and looks at her, blinking hard.

“On—” his voice is weak and he clears it, “on the team?”

Andy looks wounded; the skin around her eyes tighten and wrinkle as she presses her mouth into a firm line.

“In the house,” she corrects. Joe watches as Booker winces. Joe can’t take his eyes off of him. He wonders if this is what a predator feels like. His eyes track Booker’s every movement; he categorizes the way he breathes, catches if his hands shake, notice the way Booker’s shoulders curl in, just a little.

Or is this the behavior of prey?

“We haven’t been taking many missions, but when we do,” Andy pauses, taking a centering breath. “You won’t be joining us.”

Joe watches as Booker’s chest hiccups silently. He wonders if the others have noticed, too. He can’t look away to see if they have.

“We’re not ready for that,” Andy continues softly. _We can’t trust you,_ Joe wants to scream.

“But you need to be here,” Nicky says and that’s almost enough to make Joe look away towards his husband. Booker looks over to Nicky sharply in surprise before looking away again, like he’s afraid to see the depth to is eyes.

“It’s not wise to be alone,” Nicky says slowly and Joe wishes he could see his face, but he can’t look away from Booker’s. _It’s not wise to be with him_ , something inside Joe screams and it shocks him, surprises him, the voice slides around like oil in his head. Booker looks like he hears and understands it. The circles under his eyes seem to get darker.

“This is more than I expected,” Booker says. His voice is ragged, like he’d been screaming. “This is more than I deserve.”

The oiled voice in Joe’s head agrees.

Andy reaches over and rests her hand on Booker’s arm, ignoring his flinch at her touch. “We have to go through this together,” Andy says, “just like always.”

Booker’s eyes are on the table and he nods absently and Joe almost wonders where he is, where he’s disappeared off too, before forcefully jerking himself away from that train of thought.

Booker’s never been this meek, mouse-like man. He doesn’t trust it.

Nile offers to gather up the dishes, breaking the frozen silence that’s fallen on the group, and Booker quietly volunteers to help. She smiles at him and the oiled voice wraps its fist around Joe’s heart, screaming out at the danger. Nicky tries to lead him to the living room, but his skin prickles. He can’t – he can’t leave Nile alone with him. It may be irrational, but it’s not safe. Joe kisses Nicky’s knuckles and goes back to the kitchen.

Nile and Booker are quiet, standing side by side at the sink, and Booker tenses when he looks over at Nile and sees Joe in the corner of his eyes. Joe steps further into the kitchen and goes to stand on Nile’s other side, resting against the counter with his arms crossed. His back is to the wall, facing the open kitchen, and Nile looks over at him, eyes darting over his posture and smiles. The tension in Joe’s chest eases and he tries to convince himself this is proof she’s not in danger.

“What are you doing?” Nile asks and Joe pretends he doesn’t see Booker look at him.

“Just thought I’d keep you company,” he says and Booker looks down at the plate in his hand. Joe’s eyes flicker over to him and then back to Nile. Nile frowns and then smiles sadly.

“Thanks, Joe,” she says and goes back to quietly drying the dishes while Joe stands guard beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I don't know how this chapter ended up so LONG but I hope you enjoyed it! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should i have reread this tomorrow and waited to post it? probably. if yall see any glaring mistakes please chalk it up to my excitement to have you read it and let me know :) 
> 
> TW at end

**PART ONE**

Joe’s alone. He reaches out for Nicky and finds his bed empty and cold. Frowning, he sits up and looks around. The light’s bright at the window; so bright he has to squint and look away. Their bedroom door is ajar and Joe finds himself standing in front of it. He looks back at the rumbled bed before stepping into the hall.

The house is quiet; quieter than it’s ever been. Joe takes a step towards the stairs and feels like he’s moving in place. The hallway grows and Joe looks around; the hallway has changed. It reminds him of their safehouse in eastern Germany. He retreats back into his room and looks around as he stands in their Turkey living room.

He thinks he calls out; no words escape his mouth, but they echo in his voice around him.

 _“Nicky?”_ the voice echoes. _“Andy? Nile?”_

He moves through the room and when he walks into what should have been the kitchen, he’s standing in the foyer of their place in southern Africa. He continues walking; he passes through the house in Vietnam, the one in Chile, northern Mexico, middle America. Each home is familiar, but empty. Dust lines the shelves and the covers over their furniture are untouched. He moves, faster and faster, until he’s running and gasping for breath as he looks for his family in this labyrinth.

 _“Nicky!”_ the voice calls out, echoing and thundering around the space. _“Nicky, Nicky, Nicky!”_

Joe wakes with a sharp inhale through his nose and rolls onto his back. His eyes scan the bedroom before falling on Nicky. His husband is still sleeping, the solid weight of him pinning Joe’s arm to the mattress. Joe raises his free hand and spreads it over his chest, feeling the fast beating of his heart against his palm. Nicky murmurs in his sleep and shifts, unconsciously moving back towards Joe’s warmth as his back is exposed to the air and Joe looks over at him again. He traces the shadowed form with his eyes as his heartbeat slows and the panic cools on his skin. Joe works his arm free and delicately gets out of bed in attempt to escape without disturbing his sleeping partner.

“Joe?” Nicky mumbles sleepily as Joe opens the door and Joe winces before turning to him with a soft hush.

“I’m just getting some water,” he says softly and Nicky’s eyes drift closed again, already half-asleep. “I’ll be back.”

Joe steps into the darkened hallway and tries not to shiver as the eerie feeling from his dream washes over him. He pauses and listens; he strains his ears to hear in the direction of Nile’s room. The urge to check on them is strong, pulling on his limbs and whispering in his ear to just get eyes on them, but he doesn’t. As much as he loves their home, there is something to be said about piling together in a cave, where Joe can wake at any time and immediately assure himself they’re alright.

He walks down the steps and releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he reaches the top and descends.

He looks around the darkened living room, letting his eyes skip over the familiar shadows, half on instinct and half to satisfy the unnerving urge to _search_ for something. He nearly jumps when he sees a silhouetted form by the back door. His mind recognizes Booker before Joe’s body could react past the surprise of seeing him awake.

Booker fares worse. He startles when he hears Joe’s footsteps move across the floor and Joe watches with sharp eyes as Booker turns; Joe can’t determine if it’s to fight or to run.

Joe ignores him as Booker stays frozen in place and moves blindly to the sink to get water. The tap seems deafening and his ears ring when he shuts it off. He wants to ask after Booker; wants to know if he couldn’t sleep or simply hasn’t slept yet. Wonders, with a twist in his chest, if he’d been contemplating leaving in the dead of night.

Joe doesn’t have the resolve to know and so instead, he leans his weight against the counter and focuses his attention on the glass in his hand. Booker’s eyes are on him like a physical presence and Joe turns to look out the small window above the sink. After another moment, he hears Booker shift and when he glances over, he’s resumed his watch outside.

Somewhere in the distance of the neighborhood, a dog barks. Joe feels his nerves alight as a chill floods through him. The dog keeps barking and a little piece of Joe’s chest eases; the likelihood it was an alert bark is low. The poor mutt just wants back inside. But all the same, the urge to do a sweep of the house wraps itself around his mind and he knows he won’t be able to relax until he gives into it.

The house is quiet except for the sound of his and Booker’s breathing, synced up from their brief watch and Joe does his best to ignore that. When he sets his glass on the side of the sink, it’s clink is loud in the kitchen. Joe catches Booker twitching at the sound.

He moves out of the kitchen and goes to the front door, just to stop his mind from running in circles at the thought of being unprepared. He knows, better than anyone, that a locked door doesn’t deter anyone, but at least it would give them further warning before an intrusion happened. He checks the windows again, glancing out them at the darkened street, looking for anything out of place, before the itch under his skin leaves him and he can go back upstairs. He pauses in the hallway again, leaning towards Nile’s room and making sure nothing’s amiss, before slipping into the cracked door of his and Nicky’s room.

He relaxes fully when he sees Nicky, still safe in bed where he left him. When he puts his knee on the mattress, Nicky’s eyes crack open. His smile’s small; his lips quirked up in a sleepy smile as he reaches for Joe, guiding him to settle at his back.

Joe curls around Nicky and tries not to think of the man downstairs.

\--

When Joe next wakes, it’s late morning. The bed is empty and he sprawls on it, stretches, and climbs out of bed. He can hear his family downstairs and after last night, he’s eager to join them. In the hall, the sound of the TV filters lowly up to the second floor and the smell of coffee lures Joe down the hall.

Joe gets downstairs and looks in the direction of the kitchen. He feels stupid to realize he was looking for Booker and shakes his head to dislodge the feeling. It’s almost easy to chalk the whole night up to one weird dream after the other, but when Nicky sees him in the doorway, he turns with a smile and pushes a warm mug in his hands.

“How are you feeling?” Nicky asks, pressing a quick kiss to Joe’s lips before pulling back. Joe licks his dry lips and raises the mug to take a sip.

“I’m fine, my love,” he says and gives Nicky a smile over the rim before moving away to the living room.

Nile and Andy are stretched out on the couch still in workout clothes, but dry, and Joe looks around once more before taking a seat in the chair facing the stairway. He wants to ask if Booker’s been down, but doesn’t. He doesn’t necessarily want to talk about him, but his curiosity is too strong.

“He’s still in his room,” Andy says after Joe looks up at the staircase, yet again, and Joe’s head whips over to her. He catches Nile quickly looking away and feels something like embarrassment warm his cheeks.

“You should go get him for breakfast.”

Joe’s mouth goes dry. The last thing he wants to do is go get Booker for breakfast, but Andy’s suggestion rang too closely to a command and she’s never steered him wrong before.

When he walks towards the stairs, he watches himself from outside his body. It’s like he’s moving in a dream, like time has slowed and moves differently the closer he gets to Booker. He half expects to never reach the second landing, but he does and finds himself frozen in front of Booker’s door.

He knocks. And waits. And raises his hand to knock again when it’s pulled open and Booker’s standing in front of him in wrinkled clothes. Joe can’t stop looking at the scraggly beard overtaking his face.

“Andy said you should come to breakfast,” he says. Booker hunches his shoulders, curls in on himself and rubs at the back of his neck. Joe frowns, watching as Booker’s hands shake before he fists them and holds them at his sides.

He stares at Bookers hands before looking back up at the exhausted face.

On instinct, he opens his mouth to ask after him, because he can’t handle his brother looking so weary, but before he can, Booker’s nodding.

“Okay,” he says quietly and Joe blinks at the sound of his voice. He looks away from the beard and up at his eyes, but Booker refuses to meet his gaze. He’s staring somewhere low on Joe’s chest and Joe’s fingers twitch. He longs to reach out to him, to shake him and beg for him to _try_ , to hold him in his arms and fall to their knees together.

He crosses his arms over his chest instead and Booker’s eyes dart up to Joe’s for a split second before they look away.

“Shouldn’t be too long,” Joe says gruffly. The words are torn from his throat and hang in the air between them, heavy and bloody. Booker nods without a word and Joe turns to leave.

Joe hesitates before returning to the others. He takes a moment to settle the unease churning and twisting in his stomach and to roll the tension out of his shoulders. When he enters, Andy’s leaning against the counter while Nile’s grabbing plates out of the cabinet and Nicky’s finishing up the breakfast he prepared. It feels calmingly normal. Joe moves to the fridge for juice and when he sits, he sits in his normal seat beside Nile and when Nicky sits beside him, that feels normal too.

Booker shows up and sends the balance Joe’s concocted within himself teetering like it had been balanced on a pin. Booker hesitates before taking the empty seat between Nile and Andy and Joe watches as he hunches his shoulders over his plate. There’s a moment of heavy silence that weighs on Joe’s shoulders, leaving him as hunched as Booker, before Nile speaks.

“So,” she says carefully and Joe tilts his head to look at her, feeling a rush of love and affection straighten his spine. “The other night, Andy was telling me about her favorite mission.”

“Lima,” Andy says and Nicky finishes, “Fifty-one.” Andy grins at him and Nicky gives her a close-lipped smile.

“Yeah,” Nile says, tone light. Easy. “So what about you guys?”

Nicky taps his fork on his plate softly. The tines clink against the ceramic in a quick one, two, three, before he shifts and rests his arms against the table.

“It wasn’t strictly a mission,” Nicky says and Joe can hear the grin in his voice without having to see it. “We were in a little city in El Salvador, right on the coast, in—what would you say?” Nicky asks, looking to Joe.

Joe shuffles the food around on his plate. He remembers the event Nicky’s talking about, and thinks of it fondly, too. It’s a good memory to share with Nile.

“1890’s, sometime,” Joe says and Nicky nods in agreement before spinning the tale for Nile. He makes it sound more glamorous than it was, but he lets him embellish where he needs. In truth, Andy’s story was probably also glamorized more than it needed and in the future, Nile will look back on the successful missions with rose-tinted glasses too; idolizing the ones where they win and no one dies and spinning it into a tale of wonder and excitement, of heroics and quips.

Nile seems to know Joe is in no mood to talk, because she skips over him and lets her attention linger on Booker.

“What about you?” she asks and Joe looks up through his lashes just in time to see Booker jerk, like he was surprised to be seen, let alone spoken to, and he clears his throat before speaking with his eyes downcast.

“There was a job,” he says slowly, “in England. We had to get last minute documentations and it was before everything got so fancy. Back then I could whip something up in a few hours, but still, we were cutting it close.”

Joe remembers that mission; remembers rushing Booker to finish the forms and having the man snap at him and throw his pocket book across the room to chase him out while he worked. The memory burns at him like a migraine.

“I remember that,” Nicky offers softly and Booker’s eyes flash up from his plate before falling again. He tells the story in a rush, offering no flash and awe like Nicky had, but Nile sits attentive while he speaks in stops and starts.

He rubs at his head as his story finishes abruptly with their success and Joe matches Andy’s frown.

“You have a headache, Book?” she asks, gesturing with her fork. Booker drops his hand and shrugs.

“It’s nothing,” he says lowly and hides his hands under the table. Joe’s jaw clenches hard enough to hurt and when he eats, it feels spiteful.

\--

Joe spends much of the next few days watching Booker. He’s hesitant to let the man out of his sight and even less inclined to leave him alone with the others. Booker’s twitchy and it makes Joe nervous. He jumps at sudden noises and can’t sit still. It drives Joe to exhaustion just watching him.

Booker tries to hide it. Joe’s not sure if he’s just too skilled at reading him or if he’s just not doing a good job, but he’s tense when he notices Joe in the same room and there’s a vicious twist of satisfaction at Booker’s discomfort. The oiled voice makes a reappearance to whisper: _yes, yes, this is how it should be_. 

Joe hates the voice. Hates how easy it is to listen to it, to agree with it. Hates the way he feels sick in his soul after he does. He always hides away after listening to it; he locks himself in the bathroom and runs the shower and cries. He longs to be comforted, but isn’t sure he’d deserve it. He wouldn’t know how to explain what was happening inside anyways.

**PART TWO**

When the worst of the withdrawal is over, Booker shaves.

His hands are finally steady enough to hold the razor and the cravings have gone down enough that he doesn’t want to slit his own throat to escape them anymore. He didn’t think he could look worse than the ragged, overgrown mess he’d arrived with, but he’s mistaken once he looks at his too-cleanly shaved face. His cheeks are gaunt and the circles under his eyes look darker with how young his face is expected to look. He hasn’t had a clean-shaven face in decades and regret instantly grows in his stomach, rising to burn behind his eyes.

He scrubs at his face with the hand towel and holds it there, hiding away from his own reflection like it might not exist if he can’t see it. He closes his eyes and wishes the problem would be fixed by the time he looks again.

It isn’t.

He sneaks back to Andy’s room and hides there. He knows he can’t stay hidden for long – they never let him stay away for too long – but he sits on the floor and leans against the door, resting his head back to stare at the ceiling as the sounds of his family existing rise up to him.

He aches so severely at the sounds that it steals his breath away. He misses them so much he thinks his heart could stop from it.

They don’t exist like this when he’s around. He doesn’t begrudge them it, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting every time he hears their laughter die at his presence or the way their conversations grind to a halt around him. They don’t let him stay hidden away upstairs for long, but at least when he’s away from them, he can pretend they might miss him.

He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his arms on them as he closes his eyes and clears his mind. Their voices are too muffled to understand from behind the closed door, but the tone is light and sometimes a laugh sneaks it’s way to him. He tries to let the distanced sounds of them soothe the gaping hole in his chest that’s been festering since he betrayed them. He’s filled to the brim with sorrow. He’s not sure how there’s space for anything left.

There’s a knock at the door that stops his spiral from going any further. He feels it vibrate in his back and against his skull. He rolls forward to his knees and looks around as adrenaline floods him for a heartbeat.

“Yeah?” he calls out, rubbing a hand over his face and startling at the feeling of bare skin there.

“You’ve been up here most of the morning,” Andy says through the door. She taps again, lightly with her fingers this time. “Up and at ‘em.”

“Okay,” he croaks out. He can’t tell if she’s leaving or not, but he scratches at his face and gets to his feet quietly. He looks at himself in the mirror above the dresser and frowns at his reflection. Hatred and embarrassment burn through him and color his cheeks.

His hair flops lifelessly over his forehead and he pushes it back behind his ears. He wishes he could have a drink and let the liquid courage of his flask bite away any unease hiding within him. His fingers twitch of their own accord, moving to his side on instinct and he forcefully stops himself. He splays his fingers across his belly and breathes, feeling his diaphragm expand with each breath. He can’t do that anymore. Not ever again.

Booker knows this is his last chance and he has to do it right. He knows what he did is unforgivable and inexcusable; they gave him one hundred years to be good, but then the timeline was sped up and now, this is it. He doesn’t get any more do-overs. He’s going to be a perfectly functioning cog in the machine and prove to them he can be good.

And that means no more drinking; no more wallowing. He will show up when they want him and disappear when they don’t and if that means he has to listen to them exist happily without him, then so be it. What’s a little more heartbreak? 

He brushes his fingers through his hair and straightens his shirt, ignoring the tremble in his body that calls out for anything with alcohol as he walks down the stairs, following the sounds of them like a man lead to execution.

Predictably, they fall silent when he enters the room.

Joe doesn’t acknowledge him, but he knows he’s aware of him. Booker’s seen Joe on enough missions to know when he’s faking ignorance. Nile looks up with a sad smile that transforms into a shocked, slack-jawed look. Andy freezes when she catches sight of him and even Nicky’s initial look of caution melts into surprise.

“Hey, Book,” Andy says hesitantly. He can hear the question in her voice and he wishes he were allowed to go back upstairs and hide until his beard grows out again.

Andy’s tone causes enough curiosity for Joe to look up. His eyes are tight and pinched, and they don't change when he catches sight of him.

Booker shoves his hands in his pocket to hide the way they shake and tries not to hunch his shoulders too much.

“If you’re hungry, there’s still some eggs for you on the stove,” Andy says. The last thing Booker wants to do is eat, but he takes the out and disappears into the kitchen quickly. The silence behind him lasts too long for them to be doing anything but whispering about him and anxiety burns through him, leaving him sweaty and shaky. He rubs at his chest, like that might ease the ache there, and looks to the stove.

The sight of the cold eggs waiting for him turns his stomach and he grabs the pan and throws them away before turning to the sink. Their new home has a dishwasher now, but the dishes from their breakfast are still in the sink and Booker turns on the faucet just to drown out the silence.

He washes the dishes quickly and sets them in the rack to dry. He watches the backyard out the sink window and gets to see a storm rapidly approaching. The sky darkens and fat raindrops patter to the ground. By the time he’s finished, the rain’s coming down in sheets and it’s downpour sounds loud in the house. He can hear the TV on and he creeps closer to the living room, trying to stay out of sight. He wonders if he could sneak in without them noticing, if he could hide in plain sight and steal the moments of happiness for his memories without having it muffled through walls.

Joe’s moved a chair by the window and is looking out it with a sketch pad sitting neglected on his lap. Nile’s laying down on the couch, holding her phone above her face. Nicky and Andy aren’t there and Booker assumes they’d be together. He knows he would rather be with Andy than without.

He creeps in and they don’t notice him. He knows he’d never be able to make it to the chair without Nile noticing, but he thinks she might not alert Joe and let him stay.

“What if we got a cat?” Nile says and Joe snorts. “We could get it a sweater.” Nile spins on the couch and holds out her phone. Joe turns to look with an indulgent smile, but his eyes catch on Booker and the smile melts off his face. Nile looks up and over at Joe’s rapid expression change and Booker feels his heart pound uncomfortably hard in his chest.

He moves into the room with lack of anywhere else to go. Nile sits up and tucks her legs under her, keeping to one cushion on the side of the couch nearest Joe.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says softly, voice a hoarse whisper. He sits down hesitantly on the edge of the couch and holds himself stiffly. He’s ready to dart the moment they indicate he can go. Nile gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“You didn’t,” she says, eyes flicking to Joe, but she doesn’t relax and she doesn’t continue the cat conversation.

Somehow that hurts worse.

Booker can feel the moment Joe’s eyes leave him – a weight shifts off his shoulders. When he looks through the corner of his eye, Nile is half-heartedly looking at the TV, but her face is tilted just so, giving her more than enough access and opportunity to look between Booker and Joe.

There’s a loud crash of thunder outside and Booker jumps at the sudden sound. The lights flicker, but another rumbling crash erupts before the transformer can stabilize and the power goes out. There’s a moment of silence before Nile huffs a laugh and flicks her phone on, pointing the flashlight at the ceiling to illuminate the room.

Andy pokes her head around the doorway of the office, just off the side of the living room, and Nicky joins behind her. Booker doesn’t miss the way Joe relaxes at the sight of him and he wonders, with sickness rising in his throat, if Joe thought this was something he did.

“You don’t get this problem in a cave,” Andy says to Nile in what sounds like a well-worn argument and Nile laughs, the white-blue light shifting shadows across the room at her movement.

“Yeah, I don’t think you get to place _power outage_ as a con for domestic living when caves don’t have electricity,” Nile argues back.

Andy shrugs as she walks into the room and sandwiches herself between Nile and Booker. Nile playfully shoves at her and Andy jostles into Booker’s shoulder. He feels his nerves alight and his breath catches in his throat. He fists his hands on his thighs and tries to think around the sudden racing of his heart.

Nile says something distantly and Andy laughs. Her soft laugh makes Booker dizzy. The room spins. Much like the transformer, Booker doesn’t get any time to stabilize before Andy’s leans against him. It’s so normal, so casual, Booker doesn’t know what to do. Nausea rises in his throat. He jumps to his feet and the laughter stops; he feels everyone’s eyes on him. His body is still hot from where Andy was pressed against it. His mouth fills with wet saliva and he darts towards the bathroom.

He falls to his knees and dry heaves over the bowl.

He sits back, breathing hard, and leans against the wall with his head on his knees.

“You okay?” Andy asks and Booker jumps. She’s holding a candle in her hands and the soft orange light flickers on her face, making her look both hard and soft in conflicting turns. It makes him feel dizzy. He looks away.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, pushing his hand through his hair again.

“Lying’s what got us into this mess in the first place,” Andy says with a tone that brooks no nonsense and Booker hunches his shoulders. He wants to grovel. If it would make a difference, he’d beg for forgiveness. He’d fall to his knees and kiss at her feet, prostrate himself before her like the god she once was.

Andy sighs and sits down in front of the door. Somehow, Booker feels more trapped than when she was standing and sweat breaks out on his temples, along his hairline, running down his spine.

“Are you feeling better?” she asks softly. Booker knows she’s talking about the nausea, and that at least has passed, but he shakes his head. He’s hurting. He’s _been_ hurting. There’s a two hundred year old wound gushing blood and he can’t do anything but poke at it.

Andy leans forward and reaches out for him. it takes everything in him to keep from moving away. Her hand rests on his leg, wrapping firm around his shin, and he feels like he’s been set on fire.

“C’mon, Book,” she says and gives him a soft jostle before letting go. She gets to her feet and he hears her joints crack and pop. His heart pounds loud in his ears at the sound. They’ve all been prone to stiffness and cracking, but not like this. It’s different for her now.

She leads him without stopping to see if he’s following. He thinks, she probably doesn’t care if he’s behind her anymore. Hell, the last time he was, he shot her. The memory stabs through him like ice and he stumbles over his feet. He hopes she knows he’d follow her command anywhere.

She leads him upstairs and she stops in front of her room. When she opens the door and gestures inside, his chest tightens. Being with them is hard, being without them is unbearable.

He expects her to leave him, then. Maybe with a touch to his neck, maybe not. Probably with a “feel better,” and the click of the door being shut behind him.

She surprises him when she gives him a gentle shove and follows in after him.

He stands uncomfortably uneasy in the room and she walks further in. She sets the candle on the nightstand, it’s dim glow illuminating the room faintly, and climbs into bed. His hands twitch to the non-existent flask at his side.

“Lay down,” Andy orders gently and Booker’s helpless to do anything but obey. He lays stiffly beside her and she reaches out and grabs his hand. He feels like he’s being burnt alive. He feels like he’s drowning.

 _I’m sorry_ , he wants to say, but the words catch and die in his throat, choking him as effectively as a noose.

\--

Living with them doesn’t get better, but it doesn’t get worse. He spends his days alternating between a desperate need to be useful, to prove he can still offer _something_ to them, and the fear that being seen will result in reminding them why they exiled him in the first place.

He tries to keep to himself, but there’s a new anxiety that creeps up on him and steals the heat from his limbs whenever he can’t see them. He tries to reassure himself with just the sounds of them. He doesn’t know Nile well enough to hallucinate her, so when he hears her laugh or her voice call out across the house, it soothes an itch under his skin. This is real. They are real.

He’s in the living room alone one evening, after Joe and Andy left to have a meeting with Copley and Nile leaves to shower. Nicky’s in the kitchen, baking a new bread recipe and Booker watches whatever show was left running when Nile left the room.

“Hey, Nile?” Nicky calls from the kitchen and Booker looks nervously towards the bathroom Nile disappeared to and then back to the kitchen. He opens his mouth to call back where she is, but his mouth dries and his palms become clammy. He wants to retreat back to Andy’s room and remove himself from the situation entirely, but instead he fists his hands and pushes himself to his feet. He forces himself to walk past the stairs and to the kitchen, where Nicky’s got his back to the door and is curled over the counter.

Nicky looks up at the sound of footsteps on tile and the smile on his face stiffens. Booker watches as his shoulders tense and the open, friendly look in his eyes harden. Booker’s always been a coward, and everything in him tells him to run from this, but he knows that won’t fix anything. He clears his throat and resists the urge to shift his weight.

“Nile’s in the shower,” he says softly and then looks down at Nicky’s dough covered hands. “Can I—is there anything I can help with?”

Nicky hesitates and it cuts through him like a bullet. He looks down at his hands and then back at Booker, and then behind him, like if he hopes hard enough, Nile would show up. There’s pressure building behind Booker’s eyes and he blinks, looking away.

“Yes,” Nicky says finally with a shrug towards a bag of flour. “Can you put some on the counter?”

Booker moves and obediently sprinkles flour on the counter next to the bowl Nicky’s got his hands buried in. He’s hyperaware of how close they are. It might be the closest he’s been to him in all the weeks he’s been here. He’s not sure he’s ever even been alone with Nicky since being back and he wonders what Joe would do to him, knowing he is now.

Booker thinks of all the times he’d helped Nicky cook. All the times he’d sat at the table and drank the wine Nicky planned to cook with until he’d been chastised and forgiven with a smile as he chuckled unapologetically into his drink.

His stomach hurts suddenly at the memories and when Nicky shifts and brushes his arm against Booker’s, Booker flinches away like he’d been shocked. He pushes the flour bag to the back of the counter and dusts his hands off on his jeans.

Nicky’s watching him with his patient, all-seeing gaze and Booker can’t meet his eyes, lest the man literally see into his shriveled soul and find him too wanting.

“Thank you,” Nicky says softly and it settles over Booker’s shoulders like an anvil. He’s sinking under the weight of it.

“You can,” Nicky pauses, like he’s trying to find the words, and Booker glances up to find Nicky staring at him, waiting for his attention before he finishes his thought. “You can join me, if you want.”

Booker wants, so deeply. He knows this is a betrayal to Joe from the both of them for going against his wishes, but Booker’s legs wouldn’t carry him to the door if he wanted them to, so he musters his energy to make it to the table and sinks into his chair.

Nicky doesn’t speak to him again and Booker is left to get lost in the memories of a past life, of a time when he hadn’t ruined the last good thing he had. There’s a bottle of wine on the table from the night before. It’s half empty and Booker stares at the bottle like he might find himself inside it. His hands twitch in his lap and he doesn’t notice how fast his breathing had become until Nicky is breaking through his hypnosis.

“Booker? Can you hand me that?”

Booker looks up with wild eyes and feels like the room is too large. There’s too many things that catch his gaze before he can focus on Nicky again. He’s looking at Booker with a puzzled expression and Booker feels shame burn through him. Nicky’s pointing to something on the table and it feels like years before Booker’s eyes return back to the table. There’s a paring knife laying off to the side and Booker stares at it a moment before reaching for it and standing.

He flips the knife in his hand as he walks and holds it delicately by the blade, offering the handle to Nicky. He thinks he ought to be on his knees so he could offer the knife and his neck in one motion. He wants Nicky to shove the short blade through his chest, just so he can feel like he might be forgiven. He wishes they would just take him and beat him, kill him, spill as much blood as it would take to cleanse him of his sins and for them to heal.

Nicky takes the knife carefully from his hands and gives Booker a long look, like he could read his very thoughts, and frowns.

“Thank you, Book,” he says again, before turning to the now rolled dough and cutting small designs in the loaf. Booker’s knees feel weak and he wants to collapse. He wants to demand to know what it means. He just wants Nicky to be fucking honest with him. Does this mean _anything_ or is Nicky just being _kind?_

Miraculously, Booker manages to keep his feet under him as he walks out of the kitchen. He thinks he should shower, but instead he goes up to Andy’s room, crawls into his borrowed bed, and stares at the wall.

Booker can hear when Andy and Joe return. He strains his ears despite himself and his chest loosens a little when he can hear all four of them talking to each other downstairs. The anxiety settles back into his lungs like a rock, though, when he hears their frantic, urgent tones. He rolls over and listens as they hurry up the stairs and climbs out of bed when he can hear them calling for each other through the door.

“Nicky,” Joe calls, “have you seen my—”

“I’ve got it down here,” Nicky calls from the first floor.

“Make sure you grab the—” Andy says and Nile’s already answering as she walks past Booker’s door, “I’ve got it!”

“Book!” Andy calls and he jolts like a schoolboy caught eavesdropping. He opens the door and looks down the hall to where Andy is standing at the top of the stairway.

“We gotta go. Shouldn’t be longer than a few days. I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says quickly and darts down the stairs before Booker can even respond. He follows her slowly down the stairs and watches as the door shuts, separating him from them.

A chill settles deep in his bones and a scream grows in his chest. He swallows it down and it churns in his belly.

 _They’ll be back_ , he tells himself. _They’ll be back_.

\--

Andy doesn’t call. Booker tries to pretend like he was expecting it, but it stings him like a whip. He lays in bed and doesn’t move; he pretends he’s not in his apartment in Paris. He pretends he’s not freezing and alone in Russia.

\--

Booker musters the energy to walk around the house and wonders if any of it is real, or if he’s finally broken beyond repair and has imagined it all.

He looks at everything they left behind and holds it. He moves it around like that is poof it’s real. He looks at the food in the fridge and at the tea kettle on the stove filled with water waiting to be boiled as evidence this absence was supposed to be temporary. He looks closer at the artifacts and clutter that make the house a home and thinks to himself, _they wouldn’t have left this behind. They’ll be back for this. They’re coming back._

\--

Booker’s alone. He’s in Paris and the world is silent. He screams and the sound echoes down empty streets. Cars are parked along the road and he runs, shouting for help. He looks into shops that are vacant, restaurants that are empty. He turns in the streets, looking for tourists or locals or street performers. There are no birds, no alley cats, no mice in the gutter. He’s alone. He’s the last thing alive in the world.

He wakes sobbing.

The house is quiet and the terror from his nightmare grips his chest tightly. His hands shake as he fumbles with the doorknob and slams the door open. He trips on the stairs, stumbling down the last few and falls to his knees on the first floor. Sobs still choke their way out of him and he half crawls his way to the liquor cabinet in the hall. He grabs the first thing his hands touch and lets the burn in his throat center him. He’s missed this dearly. The warmth growing in his belly and spreading out to his limbs will never leave him.

**PART THREE**

It was supposed to be an easy mission, and in a way it was. They were going in hot, so they knew it would be messy, but it wasn’t supposed to take _days._

Copley’s intel, it turns out, was just the tip of the iceberg and a three-day mission turned into eleven by the time they hit the ground. They’re beat up and exhausted and filthy, but it was a success and they can’t be too mad at Copley for doing his job and finding them ways to fix the world.

So spirts are, if not high, definitely light when they finally make it back home.

That rapidly changes at the sight that greets them.

Booker’s on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, surrounded by their entire liquor collection.

“What…” Nile says softly and Booker looks up sharply. His eyes are bloodshot and when he catches sight of them, tears fill his eyes.

“You’re back,” he says, voice thick with alcohol and sorrow. “You came back.”

“Yeah?” Nile says and looks at them for help.

“I said we’d be back,” Andy says slowly, stepping into the room carefully, like Booker might shatter if she moves too quickly.

“I thought…” Booker starts and then trails off. He sniffs and blinks hard, spilling the tears down his cheeks that he rubs away quickly.

“You knew we were on a mission,” Andy says slowly, voice raising like a question.

Booker looks away and Joe recognizes the shame in his eyes. He reaches out for a bottle on the coffee table and Joe realizes, like a bolt of lightning striking, that that’s the first time he’s seen Booker drink since Paris.

“Don’t do that,” he says, surprising himself, and hurrying forward to take the bottle away from Booker’s lips.

Booker looks down at his lap and Joe watches as he fiddles with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly and Joe’s entire being aches.

“I didn’t know what happened to you,” Booker continues and the ache in Joe’s bones turns to slush. He shivers and blames it on the adrenaline crash as his body recognizes he’s home and safe enough to let his defenses down. Joe steps away from Booker, bumping into the coffee table hard enough to jostle some bottles resting on top of it.

Tears burn his eyes and he hurries to the bathroom. He closes the door and doesn’t bother locking it, knowing Nicky will join him soon, and turns the water on hot enough to scald.

He’s standing under the spray when Nicky enters. The steam is so thick, Joe watches it spin in curls as it escapes out the door and he holds himself stiffly as Nicky gets in, hisses at the temperature, and adjusts it to a soothing warmth. He washes down Joe’s body and then does his own, gently moving Joe when he needed the water and letting him go back to monopolizing the spray. Joe just feels numb, he feels completely empty and doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Nicky captures his head in his hands and rubs under his eye with his thumb. He pulls Joe to his chest and Joe collapses willingly, hiding his face as he cries onto Nicky’s shoulder.

Nicky shushes him kindly, petting his hair and neck until Joe’s sobs settle into the occasional hiccup.

“You’re okay,” Nicky says softly – has been saying softly. He repeats it a few more times before Joe shakes his head against Nicky’s bare shoulder.

“He doesn’t get to miss us like this. Not when he was willing to give us up in exchange for his death. He doesn’t have the right.”

Nicky pulls him back and cups his face. Joe feels small in Nicky’s large hands and drowns in Nicky’s light eyes.

“That’s not fair,” Nicky says softly and his thumb traces his cheekbone. “You know that’s not fair.”

Tears flood his eyes again, making the vision of Nicky swim before him and he blinks, leaning forward to bury his face in Nicky’s warm neck again. He knows Nicky’s right. He just wishes he could tell his heart that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: part two has mild suicide ideation and mentions of vomiting
> 
> Let me know what you think! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry it took so long :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> believe it or not, this chapter was drafted at under 2k lmao

Booker wakes with a sharp inhale through his nose. His eyes snap open and he recognizes the wall of Andy’s bedroom. Without conscious thought, he looks over his shoulder to scan the rest of the area and when he realizes it’s just him, he sags into the mattress.

He doesn’t remember how he got back into the bedroom and his heart thuds in his ear. He remembers drinking though. He remembers drinking and surrendering himself to his largest fears, entertaining the thoughts of banishment and loneliness until he’d been interrupted by the arrival of everyone. Part of him wishes it was all a bad dream, but the fuzziness of his mouth promises otherwise. He raises his hands to rub at his head, wishing he at least had the hangover to justify the tightness behind his eyes. His hands go to his hair and he tightens his fingers in it.

He’s fucked everything up. He lost his sobriety and their trust in one foolish moment of panic.

His breath comes out in a shuddered exhale and he closes his eyes tight, pulling at his hair; the pinpricks of pain helps him focus as disappointment flows over him in waves, cresting higher and higher until it’s suffocating his heart in ice. Goosebumps pimple his skin and he sucks in a breath to hold as he tries to think about the rapid beating of his heart.

He doesn’t want to get out of bed. He wishes he could stay there until the world forgot he existed; until all the pain he’s caused and suffered has bled out into the soil and been reborn as something better.

He strains his ears, but the house is silent and that’s worse than anything that could happen to him now. His hands tighten in his hair for one second longer before he lets go and sits up to scrub at his face. His eyes fall on his small pile of clothes on Andy’s dresser sitting next to his deflated duffle bag and he swallows hard, frozen at the sight of it.

He has to repack it. It’s easy to do and he always anticipated on having to do so, but his hands won’t stop shaking. It’s just that he always thought he’d be here because they weren’t ready, not because he _failed_.

Andy and Joe had made it very clear this was a trial; that his place on the team was gone and his place in the house was tentative and he’d taken that seriously. He hopes they know he took it _seriously_.

He stares at his reflection and hates himself. He hates that he’s so weak, that all it takes is a little discomfort before he’s shattering like glass under too much pressure and exploding shards in every direction without care of who’s getting hurt. Unbidden, Andy’s voice rings through his head, _oh Book, what have you done_?

He jerks away from the dresser, yanking his duffle off the top and letting it swing against his legs. He doesn’t remember it being this heavy when he arrived, but now it weighs him down and he struggles to walk across the floor.

The house is quiet when Booker steps into the hallway and he frowns, unease swelling in his chest as he makes his way downstairs. The clock on the wall tells him it’s late morning, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The living room’s been picked up, blankets folded neatly over the back of the couch and the throw pillows resting at attention in the chairs. He has half a moment to panic that he’d dreamt it all up, before he notices their jackets hanging up by the door and he swallows his heart back down to his chest.

He sets his bag down at the base of the stairs; the unease of where they might be still drapes itself over his shoulders as he walks through the living room and peaks into the office before looking outside. The car is in the driveway, so they must be around somewhere. He walks towards the kitchen quietly, like he’s afraid of disturbing the peace, and toes his way across the tile.

He catches sight of Nicky’s shoulder out the backdoor and his knees feel weak with relief. He’s sitting on the porch and Booker can’t bring himself to go forward. Instead he moves to the side, walking along the back of the kitchen wall until he can see most of the porch. They’re all there; they look upset.

Booker squares his shoulders and musters the courage to move forward.

At his approach, Nicky catches his movement and sits up, staring into the house before straightening and pushing the door open. Booker knows what it’s like to be led to an execution and it feels an awful lot like this; there’s familiarity in the way his heart races like it’s working overtime for all the life unloved, the way his feet turn to lead, the way terror grips his mind so fiercely he can’t think of anything, much less an escape. 

Somehow, he moves forward.

The backyard is cool in the shade of the house and Booker tries not to shiver. He stands in the doorway to keep his escape open. If the door shuts behind him, then he’ll have to reopen it, he will have to stand in front of them for a second longer than they want. Standing in the doorway allows him to disappear into the house and out of their lives the moment they dictate it. He spends half a moment wondering how he’ll get back to his apartment in Paris before his attention is snapped back to focus when Nicky shifts in his seat.

They don’t say anything and Booker looks them over. Nicky’s unable to hide the pain swimming in his eyes and he doesn’t shy away from letting Booker see it. A knot grows in his chest and he looks away and catches sight of Joe. His face is carefully blank and a shiver races down Booker’s spine at the neutrality, at the utter wrongness of Joe being emotionless. Nile can’t meet his gaze, can’t look up from her fisted hands on her lap. Andy looks devastated and Booker can’t bring himself to look at her for long.

He can’t remember much of the night before, but he knows, like a bad dog, he’s prone to hurt unprovoked. He remembers drowning. He remembers their sudden arrival like he’d willed them into existence. He remembers Joe’s quick _don’t do that_ and the way he’d snatched the bottle out of Booker’s hands. He remembers the bite of abandonment when Joe had turned around and left him.

He remembers the way he’d mocked Joe when they’d been first reunited and his stomach churns uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” he says, unable to suffer the silence any longer. He hopes, even if he doesn’t know what exactly he’s done, it’ll mean something. Nile winces and Booker looks away, his eyes drawn towards the space between her chair and Joe’s. He will never be sorry enough.

“Don’t—” Nicky says and it comes out broken, his accent thick on his tongue. “Don’t apologize.”

“ _Nicky_ ,” Booker says softly, almost an exhale, and Andy cuts him off.

“No, he’s right. Book,” her voice shakes and Booker would rather be gutted every day of his life than hear her say his name in that broken tone another time. “This was my fault.”

 _Only because you trusted me,_ he thinks. _Only because you loved me._

“Andy, no,” he says instead with a tilt to his head, already shaking off her perceived responsibility. Booker’s actions are his own. He’s caused her so much heartache… he thinks when he dies for the final time, he will still know no peace because of it.

“I should have called,” she says over him. “I said I’d call and then I didn’t.”

That brings him pause and his eyebrows pinch together as he looks over at her. There are tears shining in her eyes that she refuses to spill and Booker wishes the world would open and swallow him up.

“What are you talking about?” he asks and her eyes flicker up to meet his and he’s surprised to find them hard.

“You thought we abandoned you,” she says, voice as hard as her eyes and Booker only just keeps himself from taking a step back into the house. Embarrassment burns his cheeks red.

“I—” he starts, but stops when Andy’s hands grip tight around the arms of her chair.

“Andy,” Nicky’s voice is heartbreakingly soft and it reels Andy back from the brink of her despair. She takes a deep breath, but refuses to free Booker from her gaze.

“How long had you been sober?”

Booker feels lightheaded. His eyes flicker nervously around the group. Joe’s staring at him with an unreadable expression and Nicky looks quickly away.

“I—ever since I’ve been back,” he swears. “I don’t even have my flask with me.” He lifts the edge of his jacket to show the smooth line of an empty pocket. That only seems to upset them more though, and Booker’s not sure why.

Andy lets out a shaky exhale, the mockery of a laugh, and Booker feels sweat bead along the nape of his neck.

 _“Goddamn it,”_ she mutters to herself, and then to him, “Why didn’t you tell us?” 

“You didn’t know?” he asks before he can stop himself, the words wringing themselves out of him. He’d been… he’d been fucking trying and they couldn’t even tell. It wasn’t enough. And now, now they knew how hard he’d been trying, how easily he’d reverted back into his old self, and they’d know for certain he’s not meant to be with them. He had two hundred years to be changed by them, it was naive to think he’d be able to change now.

Nile wipes at her face then stands quickly. She takes in a shuddery breath and avoids looking at them.

“I gotta,” she says and her voice shatters. She takes a sharp inhale and points behind Booker, making a step like she wants to escape into the house. Booker steps back and she brushes past him. His chest feels like it’s going to collapse.

His eyes follow her and then he looks back to the other three. He doesn’t know what to do.

“This is a fucking mess,” Andy says softly and Booker doesn’t have time to apologize for that before he’s startled by Nile at his back.

“What is this?” she asks and he jerks, looking over his shoulder at her. He takes a step to the side as she moves towards him, inching closer to Nicky until he realizes what he’s doing. With a glance to Joe, he takes a full step away.

Nile’s still crying but she’s looking at him with a ferociousness that rivals Andy’s and he almost can’t look away from her face to see his duffle clutched in her hands. She’s holding it out to him like an accusation.

“My bag?” he says in confusion, heart wrenching at the sight of her.

“Why is it packed?” she demands and Booker remembers all she’d wanted from him was an apology.

She’s young. Too young and too kind to be dealing with this. He’s a little surprised they wouldn’t have warned her what last night meant for him and he looks behind him for support. He wishes the others would go to her and explain, but they’ve been turned to stone.

“You packed your bag?” Joe’s voice surprises him and he can’t stop himself from looking at him. It’s ragged, like he’s spent days not talking. Booker looks back to Nile.

“It’s only my things,” he promises. He doesn’t understand what’s going on and feels wrongfooted. He’d thought they’d want to be rid of him quickly, but if they want to check his things before he goes, they can. He wouldn’t take anything they wouldn’t give, but he doesn’t blame them for not believing that.

“Are you leaving?” Nicky asks and Booker’s face twists.

“I thought you’d want me gone.”

“Why would we want you gone?” Nile asks, haltingly. Booker looks to the others. He can’t be responsible for explaining it to her; that’s not fair. But they, somehow, just look as wounded as Nile.

He feels something like hope take root in his chest and he tries to smother it before it kills him. He takes a deep breath, promising himself he’ll be forced to live through this, too.

“Do you want me to stay?”

 _“Yes,”_ Nicky answers quickly. Confusion and hope battle their way to overtake his chest.

He looks to Andy for guidance, for her confirmation or damnation, and his heart soars when she nods.

“We’re not sending you away,” she says and tears prick at his eyes. He looks away quickly, looking up to briefly blink them away before he looks to Joe.

Joe has his hands in fists on his lap and he’s staring down at them.

Booker’s heart beats unsteadily in his chest.

\--

They dump the rest of the alcohol they can find in the house. There’s no more wine on the table, no more vodka in the freezer. He tries not to let guilt and embarrassment overtake the feeling of safety cautiously blooming within him.

He’d expected the dynamics of the group to change, but not like they do. He had feared he’d be pushed further to the edges; an outlier that is reluctantly allowed near, but instead it seems he’s been dragged deeper into the fold. Nile, who’d previously been glued to Joe’s side and taken her cues from him, relaxes more. She’s good at breaking tensions, or trying to anyways; she’s skilled at ripping him away from his own thoughts with a question that eases him into less threatening territories.

And she has a lot of questions.

She prods carefully at him. She asks about his hobbies and his interests, his fighting style and weapon and could he teach her some things? She keeps her probing questions to the present, and he’s thankful for that. He’d tell her anything she wants to know, but she doesn’t ask him to tear himself open and he relaxes a little more each time he’s with her.

He doesn’t ask her any questions; he’s not sure how much he’s actually allowed to know of the time he spent separated from them, but Nile shares none of his reservations. When she catches him staring at a small wooden carving, painted in bright paints, Nile tells him happily about the origin of it without him having to ask. She sates his curiosity like she can read the questions in his mind and he listens to her tell story after story – the mundane adventures of a new immortal in a new place in the world.

He listens and memorizes each story; it’s not until he’s thinking about them when he’s alone does he realize that Nile is intentionally vague. _We were at the market,_ she’d say, or _…then the rest of us…_ Never specifying who exactly belonged in the story; protecting their privacy from him because she, too, isn’t sure where the new lines are drawn.

He was right, all those months ago. She’s good for the team.

\--

Booker had thought that after two hundred years of knowing someone, they’d stop surprising him, but Nicky continues to surprise him. He knocks on Booker’s door one morning and looks almost nervous; his broad shoulders hunch over and his hands move in front of his chest in small tight gestures as he talks.

“If you don’t have any plans,” he says, knowing Booker doesn’t have any plans, but being kind regardless, “would you want to come with me to the grocery?”

Booker wants nothing more than to go out with Nicky. Grocery trips used to always be a group affair when they were all together and Booker doesn’t realize how much he’s missed it until it’s offered freely before him.

 _“Oui,”_ he says softly, clearing his throat at the emotion suddenly caught there. “Give me a moment to get dressed.”

Nicky smiles at him and Booker feels like he could explode at the light elation that fills him at the sight.

The first outing, he’s all nerves and the silence that weighs on them is heavy; but Nicky is nothing if he’s not persistent. He asks, again and again, any time he has to leave the house if Booker wants to join him. Booker never has the strength to deny him and eventually he finds himself relaxing. The silence becomes less stifling. They talk about pointless things at first—the way fruit’s changed, the way prices increase – and then they delve from one topic to another until they’re both smiling and feeling light.

He’s starting to feel more like a person again.

It’s a dangerous feeling; he shies away from the happiness he finds warming his chest like it’s a live thing that bites. There’s a growling voice in his head that warns him against getting too comfortable. _You’re going to lose this,_ the voice says. _It’s only a matter of time until you fuck up again. How many chances do you think you deserve?_

He burns with the urge to drown it. He compulsively swallows around a taste that isn’t there and goes to sit in the living room, focusing on the sounds of the TV so intently that he jumps when Nile sits down next to him. Her eyes widen as his reaction and he swallows hard again.

“You okay?” she asks with a raised brow. Booker nods, then looks away as the lie sits heavily between them.

“Alright,” she says softly. She shifts to lean further back into the couch and Booker relaxes back slowly. Part of him wants her to leave, expects it, but she sits and watches the TV with him in easy silence and the voice rumbles, but stays wordless.

\--

Being around Andy is different. They’d bonded first over alcohol and then over shared grief, but now that Booker’s sworn off drowning in the bottle and his own sorrow, he’s not sure what they have left in common. _If,_ the voice grumbles, _they even had that in common._ Andy had never been a drunk, she’d never let her loss make her cruel. Booker’s a little terrified to find out that the one person on this earth he thought he had connected with was never anything like him.

He doesn’t avoid her, exactly, but he makes sure they’re never really alone together anymore. It works for eight days until she surprises him when he’s sitting alone in the kitchen, having given up on trying for sleep several hours after the others had gone to bed.

She pulls out a chair and he doesn’t have the energy to make an excuse to leave, so he just watches her with tired eyes as she sits across from him.

“I miss you,” she says, looking at him with such intensity Booker feels like he’d vanish the moment she looks away. After a long moment, she blinks; Booker takes in a breath and lets his shoulders sag.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” Andy continues, voice soft and quivering. “And I’m tired.”

Booker wants to reach out to her and he fists his hands in his lap to stop himself.

“I’ll never be able to fix everything I’ve done, but I can’t lose you. Not when I—” she cuts herself off before Booker can. She looks at him with wet eyes and smiles a tight-lipped smile that filled with sadness.

“I’m right here, boss,” he says, voice heavy and sinking to the floor.

She half shakes her head and her lips twitch.

“That’s not really true, though, is it?”

\--

He stops running from her after that.

He discovers they have art, they have trashy reality TV, they have the same shared look when Nile takes a bet with Nicky. It feels like something slotting into place within him and he feels weak with relief at every reminder that Andy wasn’t lost to him,

\--

They’re all in the kitchen while Joe and Nicky make dinner. Nile’s learning the basics of forgery and she’s sitting with Booker at the table. Andy’s sitting across from them, watching with mild curiosity as Booker explains his methods and watches as Nile mimics him. It’s peaceful and Booker takes a moment to memorize it; the soft conversation behind him, the weight of Andy’s gaze on him, Nile’s intense concentration as she tries to make the swoop of a letter just right. It’s a good memory, despite Joe’s discomfort, and Booker can’t afford to be picky with good memories.

“I can’t believe it gets harder than this,” Nile grumbles through her teeth as she looks at her copy. It’s a good beginners effort and Booker’s startled to find pride ballooning in his chest.

“That’s not too bad,” he says and she rolls her eyes but grins at him.

“Does it at least get more fun?”

Booker returns her grin and says, “yes.”

Nile’s eyes flash with interest.

“Like what?”

“Art forgery’s interesting. Creating a whole document is a lot more engaging than just a signature,” Booker says, going through his own repertoire while he thinks aloud.

“Wine forgery’s a good one, too,” he says and blinks in surprise when the atmosphere suddenly changes. Tension ripples through the room and Booker swallows hard as his heart sinks to his stomach. He forces himself to breathe steady and looks at Nile.

“I bet we could make a bottle that’d fool Nicky,” he says and could sink to his knees in thanks when the tension dissipates just as quickly as it arrived.

“That’s a lot of confidence,” Nicky says with a hum and Booker can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at it. He looks over his shoulder at Nicky, and instead meets Joe’s eyes.

The man looks like heartache personified and the laugh dies in Booker’s lungs as he looks away quickly. He casts a quick glance at Andy and she’s frowning, but not at Booker. She’s looking over his shoulder at Joe and his chest clenches. He tries to focus back on Nile’s training, but he doesn’t remember much after that.

\--

Joe keeps his distance. He’s no longer tailing Booker like a shadow, but now he’s nowhere to be found aside from the silent moments at dinner. Booker tries to pretend it doesn’t fester like an unhealed wound. He knows Joe was the one who brought him back officially, but he can’t help but wonder if Joe is the one who needs him gone. It nearly kills him, but he thinks he could leave. He just wants a little longer with Andy; he promises himself he’ll steal a few more months with her to covet for the rest of his existence without her and then he’ll leave until Joe calls him back.

He wonders, in the dark of night, if Joe will ever truly want him back again.

\--

Booker’s in the kitchen with Nicky, methodically chopping the bowl of vegetables that’s placed in front of him when the front door slams open, smacking against the wall with the force of it. Booker jumps, nearly cutting himself, and looks over at Nicky. Nicky looks back at him but before either man can comment, Andy’s stomping into the kitchen.

“Hey, Andy,” Nile says, voice tight as she leans in the doorway from the living room. “Everything okay?”

“There’s a new exhibit opening up at the museum downtown,” Andy says, her tone making it obvious that’s all they needed to know. Joe peeks around Nile’s shoulder and Nile shifts so the two of them can stand in the doorway together.

“Okay,” Nile says hesitantly, looking around the room at the others and Booker shrugs when her eyes fall on him.

“They’ve fucking got something of mine,” Andy grumbles in response and a flash of understanding shoots through Booker. It’s enough to make him want to laugh, but he’s not willing to invoke Andy’s wrath at doing that.

“Like a picture of you? We can see if Copley can—”

“Nothing like that,” Nicky reassures and Nile’s posture relaxes just a fraction as Andy answers, “they have my sword.”

“Your sword?”

Andy lets out a breath that’s nearly a growl and she looks over at Nile with increasingly frustration. “There was a flood in one of my hideaways and a lot of my things went missing. I’ve been missing that sword for four hundred years.”

The remaining tension leaks out of the room when Nile smiles and huffs a laugh. She comes and sits across from Andy and Booker watches as she knocks her foot against Andy’s. He turns back to chopping the vegetables as Andy tells Nile the origin of the sword and Booker listens with something soft blossoming within him, making him feel lightheaded.

They’re all sitting down to eat when Nile takes a bite then waves her fork in the air while she talks.

“You know,” she says around the food in her mouth. “We could always steal it back.”

Booker looks over at her with a smile and her eyes narrow as she becomes more resolute on the idea.

“We could,” she insists when Andy snorts at her. “The museum will have to host a fancy gala sometime and when they do, Booker could forge us initiations. I’ve been practicing my lifts; I could lift it and you could replace it with a replica.”

Andy’s eyes are impossibly soft and Booker doesn’t know what to do with the emotions welling in his chest.

“Joe and Nicky could be a distraction,” Nile continues and Nicky leans in to stage whisper to Joe, “You’re always a distraction.”

“C’mon, we’re trying to eat here,” Andy says lightheartedly and Booker shares a playful look with her, but the mood snaps when Joe stands abruptly, his chair screeching as it slides across the linoleum.

“I’m sorry. I—” he doesn’t finish the sentence before he takes a step back, bumping into his chair for one more loud noise. His eyes find Booker’s and Booker is gutted at the raw pain there.

“Joe—” Booker starts, but then Joe’s turning on his heels and leaving the room. They sit in stunned silence until they hear the door shut. Booker flinches like it’d been a gunshot.

Nicky moves to follow him, but Booker stands at the same time.

“Please,” he says and is surprised at how wrecked his voice sounds. “Let me go.”

Nicky hesitates, clearly unsure about letting the one man Joe hates in this world go after him, and Booker’s fully prepared to beg, but Nicky sits back down with a nod, his brows pulled tight together.

Booker tails after Joe easily. He’s not hiding or running, so Booker doesn’t hide either and openly follows him through the neighborhood and to a local nature park. Joe heads straight for a picnic bench and Booker watches with a stabbing pain in his chest as he sinks to his knees beside it, as though he’d worn out his energy before making it all the way there.

He moves towards him cautiously and listens as, even in the seclusion of the empty park, Joe sobs silently into his hands.

“Are you okay?” Booker asks and immediately feels a bite of embarrassment; Joe looks up at him with wet eyes and Booker wishes he’d brought a knife to offer him like he had Nicky. He thinks Joe would take the opportunity.

“I mean, do you want to talk about what’s upsetting you?”

Joe barks out a bitter laugh that sends spikes of ice through his heart and his shoulders tighten with discomfort at the cruelty in the sound.

“I can’t even tell Nicky what’s wrong; I can’t tell you.”

Booker stays silent. He musters up any ounce of courage within him and asks:

“Do you mind if I join you?” 

Joe scoffs and stares straight ahead as more tears run down his face.

“I don’t even know if I have a right to stop you.”

Booker swallows hard at that and sits down on the ground beside Joe. He steals glances at the man that was once his best friend, while Joe seemingly pretends he’s alone and that Booker doesn’t exist.

“I've never seen you like this,” Booker says quietly and Joe clenches his jaw. He thinks he might not get those last few months he’d been hoping for. He’d leave tonight if that’s what Joe wants.

“I don’t know how to make this right.” The words escape him in a plaintive whisper and he wants to beg, _please tell me how to make this right._

“You broke my heart, Booker.” Joe finally says after a long pause. His voice hiccups on barely contained sobs and more than anything, Booker wishes he’d never survived Russia. “And I can’t… heal. I don’t know how. I- Every day I think about how much pain you were in. To have—to have gone to Copley. To lose everything, just to stop existing. And I didn’t even know.”

Joe looks at him and Booker looks away.

“And I think… I think what’s to stop that from happening again? What happens when your high peaks and you get low again?”

Booker jerks, looking at Joe with wide eyes. He wants to swear that won’t happen; he wants to promise and bleed sincerity. He wants Joe to look at him and _know_ Booker could never get that low again.

“I wouldn’t—” he manages to get out before Joe scoffs, a heartbreaking sounds that makes Booker’s stomach flip.

“I can’t believe you, though! I—I trusted you with everything I had. _Everything!_ And you betrayed me.” Joe reaches out faster than Booker can comprehend and shoves him. “You betrayed _me_.”

“I’m sorry,” Booker says, but Joe isn’t done.

“I thought…” he says and pauses, looking down at his hands. “I thought I needed you back to heal, but I think I’m just going to be broken.”

Booker’s heart shatters in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit where credit is due:  
> * "I get mean when I'm nervous, like a bad dog" - Mitski  
> * concept of something of Andy's being in a museum: [here](https://rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars.tumblr.com/post/625151980898320384/the-old-guard-crack-847294)
> 
> I do hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! She just didn't want to get written. I hope it doesn't disappoint!!

Joe doesn’t know how long they sit outside. The chill from the ground has long since soaked into his bones and when he finally musters the energy to stand, he can’t feel his limbs. He’d left without his jacket, and when he spares a glance at Booker, he sees he had too. Booker doesn’t move, and Joe doesn’t expect him to, but he feels lonely on the walk back home and grits his teeth around the feeling.

When he walks back into the house, the others are loitering in the living room, trying in vain to look as though they weren’t waiting for his and Booker’s return. Emotion catches in his throat when their eyes fall to him and then seemingly behind him at the empty doorway.

“Sorry,” he chokes out. “I... I’m going to take a shower.”

He avoids acknowledging their gazes and goes to the bathroom. He locks the door behind him and stands under the spray. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there when he hears the doorknob rattle and then a soft tap on the door. He holds his breath.

“Joe?” Nicky calls out from behind the door. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he chokes out, the lie catching around his tongue and winding its way around his neck. “I’ll just be a minute.”

There’s a pause. “Okay,” Nicky says and he can hear the worry in his voice. 

Joe hurries through his shower, letting the heat melt into his muscles and gets out into the steam-filled bathroom. As he opens the door, the chill of the house rushes in and Joe shivers as the water droplets dry on his skin.

He goes to his bedroom and sees Nicky sitting on the bed, back resting against the headboard. He immediately sets down the book he’d been reading and fixes Joe with an intense stare.

“Hey,” he says and Joe feels a weight settle on his chest. He doesn’t say anything and instead tries for a smile. Nicky’s forehead creases in concern.

“Come here,” he says, patting the bed and Joe’s eyes burn with a sudden onslaught of tears. He moves to the bed and rubs at his face, feeling suddenly childish as he crawls into bed beside Nicky and curling up next to him. He presses his face against Nicky’s thigh and feels the heat of his tears falling into the pajama pants under him. Nicky’s hand goes to his head and Joe feels crushed under the weight of his sorrow.

\--

He hoped he would feel better, after his confession to Booker and his breakdown with Nicky. He’d thought, somewhat hopelessly, that by acknowledging his failings, he’d be able to move on as this new, half-grown, stunted thing.

Instead he only feels worse. He watches his family go through their daily routines like he’s behind fogged glass. He misses them. He’s desperate to join them, but exhaustion holds him by the throat.

He prefers to stay in bed or curled up on the couch and forces himself to interact in the barest of ways. The oiled voice warns him against making them chose between himself and Booker. It whispers insidiously that they’ve already chosen Booker and it’s all Joe can do to keep in the same room.

He knows that’s not fair; that no one is choosing sides because there are no sides to choose, but rationality is hard to hold on to. He wishes he weren’t so afraid to reach out, wishes he could be certain the oiled voice won’t melt out through his fingertips and stain them when he touches them; ruin them like it’s ruined him. 

Dinners are the one time of day he forces himself to interact. He’s scarcely hungry anymore, but he picks at his meals and hopes he looks normal enough.

\--

He knows he’s worrying Nicky. He can feel his husband’s lingering glances; the soft tone of his voice eats away at him when he coaxes Joe out of bed, out of the house, into a shower. It rests on his shoulders, leaving him in a hunch under the weight of his kindness.

“Hey,” Nicky says, voice soft as though he were talking to some easily scared creature. He’s standing in the doorway of their bedroom, and Joe looks up around the blankets wrapped around his shoulders.

“We’re going to the store,” he says and steps in. He walks to the side of the bed and sits down delicately next to Joe. “Do you feel up to coming today?”

Nicky runs his hand along Joe’s temple, pushing the overgrown curls behind his ear.

Joe looks away when he shakes his head, unwilling - _unable_ \- to witness the sadness clouding Nicky’s light eyes.

“Okay,” he says, like it’s simple, and Joe loves him so much for it. “Do you think you can go downstairs? Nile’s going to be down there.”

Nicky doesn’t ask him for much, and Joe would give him the world. He nods and feels Nicky take in a breath easier.

“We’ll be back soon, my love,” he says and leans down to press his lips to Joe’s forehead before he leaves.

Joe waits until he’s certain that they’re gone before forcing himself out of bed. He wanders downstairs and hears the sound of Nile’s playlist, hooked up to the speakers, playing softly from the living room. He walks in and sees her sitting on the couch, reading a magazine and eating animal crackers straight from the tub.

She looks up when he enters, and beams at him. It’s second nature to return the smile and he sinks into the seat beside her.

“You wanna choose something?” she asks, holding her phone out to him.

“This is fine,” he says with a small smile and leans against the arm. One of Nicky’s books is resting on the side table and he reaches for it, giving it a half-hearted scan before letting it rest in his lap. He plays with the pages, running his fingers over the edges and feeling the soft wear on them. If he looks, he can see where Nicky’s dogeared the pages and wonders if that holds a favorite scene, or if it was simply a resting point.

“Here, try one,” Nile says and pushes the tub towards him. Joe can’t help the tired smirk that pulls at his lips.

“You know I was there for the invention of these,” he says but still reaches into the tub and pops it in his mouth.

Nile rolls her eyes playfully, but gives Joe a sideways glance like she isn’t sure he’s telling the truth. Happiness bubbles in his chest as the soft vanilla flavors linger on his tongue. He reaches for another.

Nile’s music is soft and peaceful, and he rests his head against the back of the couch. He feels unnaturally relaxed and he breathes deeply, centering himself as much as he can. These moments of peace come rarely and he tries to saver them when they appear.

He doesn’t know when his eyes droop closed, but he’s aware of the struggle to open them when he feels Nile gently guiding him down. He tries to lift his head but it’s heavy on his neck.

“Shh,” she says soothingly and he relaxes his shoulders. “Just rest. You’re safe.”

Following her orders, he finds, is just as easy and instinctive as following Andy’s.

\--

The next thing he’s aware of is the smell of garlic and Nile’s hand absentmindedly scratching at the base of his neck.

“What time is it?” he asks, voice thick. He’s can’t muster the energy to move from his spot beside her just yet and takes a moment to gather his surroundings.

“Quarter past seven,” she says and Joe takes a deep breath in preparation of standing.

“You’re fine,” she says again, her fingers pressing into the tight muscles in his neck. The urge to move melts out of him. “They’ll get us when dinner’s ready.”

Joe’s hands clench into fists and he pulls them to his chest.

“I’m not hungry,” he say. Nile doesn’t say anything but her fingers still press into his neck. He feels warm suddenly and wishes he could cry.

“I know,” she says eventually, as if it were as simple as that. Love feels like it will burst out of him and he hopes she knows how loved she is.

\--

Joe knows he’s worrying them. Feels it in the weight of Andy’s stare, in the solidifying presence of Nile, in the sadness of Nicky’s kisses. He struggles to fight through it, though. His thoughts eat away at him like an infection. It’s too hard, being half of a soul.

He sneaks away in the night after Nicky’s fallen asleep, to stare out the windows and watch the night pass by. He begs out of sparring practices and away from meals.

He knows he needs to be better, do better, but the willpower escapes him.

\--

He’s sitting downstairs, one restless night, watching the empty street from the window and tilting his head to get a view of dim stars. After days that seem to melt together into endless weeks, sitting within view of the stars helps center him; it puts into perspective how small he is and how insignificant his own problems are. He doesn’t hear Andy approach and jumps when she sits next to him.

“This can’t go on,” she says, voice firm and exhausted. Joe’s heart races in his chest.

“What do you—“

“ _Yusuf_ ,” she interrupts. His name is sharp in her mouth and his eyes go to her face. Blood pounds in his ears as he scans her face and posture for any anger. Disappointing Andy is just as gutting as disappointing Nicky and he has a flash of fear that he has. She takes a deep breath and looks at him; she’s not as mad as he thought she was, her face is pinched tight and her eyes reflect his own sorrow.

“This can’t go on.”

_I know!_ He wants to scream, _I’m trying!_ He wants to yell until his voice is hoarse, until the words leave his throat bloody.

“I don’t... I don’t know how to fix it.” His voice cracks and he blinks the tears warping his vision away.

“This isn’t on you to fix.”

He wishes it were that simple. He doesn’t know how to convey his own blame in all of this; doesn’t know how to open his mouth and tell her it’s his fault. It starts and ends with him, because he’d never hidden his love from Booker but that means nothing when Booker didn’t feel safe enough to trust Joe with his thoughts. Joe thought they’d been brothers. He should have been the first and last line of defense against Booker spiraling like he had.

“Hey,” she says, voice softer and Joe raises his eyes to look at her, unsure when they’d fallen, and sees her blurry outline through tears.

“Then why do I feel like this?” he rushes to ask before any words of comfort can come. His voice disappears into a whisper when he says, “I think I’m going to feel like this forever.”

Andy exhales softly and then pushes to her feet.

“There’s no easy answer here, Joe,” she says, pacing. Joe watches as she moves away from him, then turns to come closer. She kneels in front of him and looks up into his face. “We just gotta roll with the punches and keep moving, just like always.”

Her tone is desperate and a chill races down his spine. She needs him to be better- to have healed. It’s a fair request; she doesn’t have much time left and he should be here for her. He nods in acknowledgement. Andy’s face softens in relief and Joe bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood.

\--

He tries.

He finds the threads of his old self and pulls them to him like a worn cloak. When he makes the decision to, falling back into the shadow of who he should be is easy. He laughs at the right time, smiles at the right time. He fills the gaps they leave for him in conversation, twisting and turning to sound right, to look right, to be right.

He feels more exhausted than ever; and more dishonest. He goes to Nicky with a hot ball of discomfort in his stomach, he goes to his family with leaden feet and feels like he’s digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole he’s not even sure he noticed forming under him.

He stops showering with Nicky; locking the door becomes second nature and Nicky gives him the much needed space he craves. He lets the water fall around him and pretends the tears don’t burn his skin.

It becomes a small point of pride to him, that he’s able to fool them enough to comfort them. It aches deep in his chest, but they’re not worrying after him anymore and it’s better.

Or he thinks it is.

The pride lasts until he accidentally catches Andy and Nile sharing a look behind his back, faces collapsed in worry, that he realizes he’s not fooling anyone. Embarrassment and shame eat at him; nausea turns his stomach and tears burn at his eyes for no discernible reason.

As carefully as he can, he excuses himself and sneaks away to the bedroom. If he has just a few minutes alone, he thinks he can get himself back under control; maybe force himself to try harder to make sure his mannerisms are as normal as possible.

He’s moving carefully past Andy’s room when he hears a sharp, shaky exhale. Hundreds of years of honed instincts tells him to freeze and listen.

He hovers in the hallway and inches closer to the closed door to Andy’s bedroom. There’s an almost imperceptible inhale and Joe presses closer against the door, tilting his head to hear better. He hears a choked off sob and his heart lurches. He longs to bust down the door and fix whatever’s upset Booker so much. His hand hovers over the knob, but ice spikes through him whenever he so much as thinks about turning it. There’s a bone deep terror that he’ll actually look at Booker, see his hidden sorrows, and not feel anything.

Joe yanks his hand away from the knob and backs up until his heels hit the opposite wall. His nerves are alight, like he’s being caught doing something he shouldn’t, and it takes everything in him not to sprint back down the stairs.

He gets to the living room and sits down, trying to pretend as though he’d been there he whole time, like his heart isn’t pounding and shattering in his chest. 

\--

When Booker finally comes downstairs, Joe scrutinizes him for any sign he’d been crying; there’s nothing. He laughs like normal, talks like normal, seemingly avoids Joe... like normal.

The shattered pieces of his soul slice through him. He’s freezing suddenly and he works his fingers to get blood flowing to them. His palms are sweaty and he wonders how long this has been happening.

He watches Booker for the rest of the day, tracking him with attentive eyes and feels nausea churn in his belly.

He can’t tell.

Bile burns at the back of his throat.

\--

He starts to trail after Booker again; following him from room to room like a second shadow. He wants to see him slip up; he wants that second chance to confront him about it. Not for the first time, he wishes he were able to rewind to the past, to stop himself from ever walking away from the door the first time.

The guilt of his decision eats at him.

He had considered himself loyal, before all this, but here he is, having knowingly walked away from his brother in a crisis twice. How many times he had unknowingly left Booker to be abandoned?

\--

Joe doesn’t sleep well.

He dreams he’s lost in the desert with no stars in the sky to guide him. He calls out for help, but his voice echoes alone around him. The dark, abandoned sky rests heavy on his shoulders. His legs buckle under the weight and he sinks to his knees, screaming.

He wakes with a gasp and startles Nicky awake too. Nicky reaches for the gun strapped to the bed frame leg and Joe stretches on instinct, resting his body against Nicky’s as his husband’s sleepy brain recognizes there’s no threat.

“Are you okay?” he asks, scanning the room once more before sliding the gun back in its holster.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Joe says and Nicky rubs at his eyes, frowning.

“No, I’m glad you did,” the sleep is barely out of his voice and he squints in Joe’s direction. “Tell me about it.”

Joe’s heart aches. He leans into Nicky and kisses at the downturned corners of his mouth.

“I’m okay,” Joe promises and nuzzles his cheek against Nicky’s. “Go back to sleep.”

It looks like Nicky’s going to argue, but Joe shifts to pull him tighter against his chest and Nicky drops it. He winds his arm over Joe’s, holding it to his chest like he’s afraid Joe might disappear in the night if he doesn’t. It makes his heart ache in his chest and he tucks his nose against the base of his neck, content enough to spend the rest of the night listening to Nicky breathe.

The house creaks as it settles in the night and Joe almost misses the soft click of a door shutting in the hall.

His heart pounds in his chest as he listens to the muffled sound of footsteps moving down the hall. There’s a moment where the phantom weight of a starless sky presses down on him from all sides before Joe makes the decision to slip out of bed. He moves carefully so as not to wake Nicky, but quickly enough that he won’t talk himself out of it.

He finds Booker downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table with an empty glass in his hands. Despite knowing the improbability of it, Joe still looks around for a bottle of liquor as goosebumps pimple his arms. Booker looks up sharply at his approach and then down at the glass in his hands. His shoulders are pulled tight around his ears and Joe swallows hard. His mouth is dry and he licks at his lips.

“Can’t sleep?” Joe asks, voice catching. Booker smiles a tight, unhappy smile at his hand.

“No,” he says softly. “You?”

“No,” Joe says and lingers in the doorway. Desperate words catch in his throat and he’s hyper aware of his sleeping family upstairs. He bites at the inside of his cheek.

“Can we talk?” His eyes never leave Booker and when he flinches softly at Joe’s question, Joe’s nerves jolt like he’d been surprised by it too. Booker nods and Joe steps into the kitchen, intending to sit next to him at the table, but the kitchen ceiling looks too dark and has Joe’s heart catching in his throat. He continues to the backdoor and opens it.

He glances over his shoulder and meets Booker’s gaze. Joe tilts his head in invitation before stepping out.

His eyes instinctively go upward and his chest loosens at the sight of the stars above him. He feels lighter and tilts his head all the way back, letting the whole night sky hold his attention; he straightens when he door clicks shut behind him and turns to look at Booker. He stays by the door, keeping a distance between them that puts a knot in Joe’s throat.

They stare at each other for a moment while Joe tries to find a way to talk without the knot exploding out like a sob and only stops trying when Booker sighs heavily.

“Just say it, Joe.” His voice has a plaintive, desperate tone and Joe’s heart clenches painfully.

“I heard you crying,” Joe says quickly, then blinks. That wasn’t how he’d meant to say it and Booker’s eyes narrow.

“When?”

It feels like a full body blow; like he’d been hit by a truck head on; like he’d miscalculated the distance to a window and hit brick instead.

“Does that matter?” he asks and hates that his voice cracks. “You were upset and hurting and you didn’t tell _anyone_.”

“It wasn’t...” Booker hesitates, breaking off into a huff. Joe imagines the end of that sentence and thinks if Booker finishes it, Joe is going to hit him. “It’s nothing to worry about,” Booker says instead. “It’s not like—“ _Before_ , Joe’s mind fills in. He clenches his jaw.

“But it _is_ ,” Joe insists, working to keep his tone steady. “You can’t just keep things bottled up—“

“C’mon, Joe,” Booker interrupts. There’s an edge to his tone that makes Joe straighten his spine. “I’m trying.”

“ _I know,_ ” Joe hisses. He _knows._ He’s seen the work Booker’s done and has seen how destroyed he was when he lost it.

“But it’s not enough,” Booker mutters to himself and Joe flinches.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Booker says, tone raising in his desperation before his eyes go worriedly to the dark house. His voice is softer when he continues, “Your actions have told me plenty.”

“I don’t—“

“Just—“ Booker says at the same time. Joe’s mouth closes with a snap and Booker’s head bows as he continues. “Just tell me what you want, Joe. Please. I... Do you want me to go?”

The question freezes his blood and his lungs forget how to work. His mind blanks, buzzing in terror at the idea.

“I can stay away as long as you need,” he says, as if Joe’s silence was answer enough. “One hundred years. A thousand. The rest—“ the words choke him and when he takes in a sharp breath, Joe wonders if he’d taken all the oxygen with him. He feels like he’s attached to a live wire as Booker finds his voice. “The rest of my life.”

Joe’s muscles are locked; he’s tensed to discomfort and he thinks, wildly, that he’s going to cramp soon. The image of quiet dinners floats through his mind; a heartbreak that continues to fester until his heart has beaten it’s last beat.

“What I did was unforgivable. I’m not- I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I just need you to tell me what to do.”

Joe thinks, suddenly, of Booker, in all his fear and pain, standing in front of his last living son and wonders at the strength, the unwavering loyalty, the blind devotion, it takes to stand in front of someone you love and accept whatever they decide to give to you.

He thinks of the courage it must take to do it again.

“I don’t want you to leave.” The words rip through his chest, dragging his heart through his throat and tossing it at Booker’s feet. “That was never the right solution. _I don’t want you to leave._ ” He says it again, because he can’t bear the thought of losing Booker for even a day, let alone their lifetime. He’s desperate to make Booker understand that the thought of losing him is unacceptable. He wants to fall to his knees and offer himself openly in apology.

Booker watches him with wide eyes and Joe can see they’re watery in the light of the moon. It steals Joe’s breath away and he wants to weep.

“Then what do you want?” Booker asks in a hoarse whisper and if Joe’s heart is at Booker’s feet, then Booker’s is at his. He feels sick at the perceived power and swallows wetly.

“I want to fix this,” he admits. “Before, I was trying to hate you, because if I hated you, then I wouldn’t _hurt_ like this. And I hurt, Booker. Because I didn’t notice you weren’t okay, and I don’t know how to help. I don’t know how to fix you. And if I can’t do that, if I can’t help someone I love, then what’s the _point?_ ” 

Joe feels raw and his eyes leave Booker’s tearstained face and look into the dark yard.

“I think you’re trying to take blame for things that weren’t your fault,” Booker says. Joe looks up and meets his gaze for all of a second before Booker’s looking away.

“This was all my doing,” Booker says. “I... I make wrong decisions. If I’m lucky, they only hurt me and I can hide the consequences where no one can see them.”

“But I _should have_ seen it,” Joe insists. His legs feel weak and he thinks, again, about falling to his knees. “After two hundred years, Book, you felt you couldn’t talk to me.”

“But not because of _you_ ,” Booker says, turning to face Joe in a fierce desire to be heard and believed. Joe watches as Booker’s hands raise, like he was going to reach out and then reconsidered it. He wants to take the last few steps separating them, but his feet are rooted to the floor. “I don’t know how to talk about myself without being a warning.”

Nothing on earth could’ve held Joe away from Booker then. He moves towards him without thinking and grabs him by the shoulders and his skin tingles; this might be the first time since before Nile that he’s reached out to Booker without anger being the motivator.

“But you’re not,” Joe says and his fingers dig into Booker’s shoulders. His voice is hard with conviction and Booker huffs out a wet laugh, looking away from Joe’s face.

“Then what was the point?” his voice is ragged with desperation and his eyes flicker to meet Joe’s and Joe feels like he could drown in the grief there. “If I’m not the cautionary tale, then I’m—I’m...”

“You’re Booker,” Joe says fiercely. His hands move to cup Booker’s face and he refuses to let him look away. Booker’s cheeks are scruffy under his palms and he strokes his cheekbones with his thumbs, weakly brushing away the tears trailing there.

“You’re my brother who has felt alone for far too long. I’m not going to let you grieve and suffer alone. Not ever again.”

He pulls Booker to him and wraps his arms around him. Booker freezes and Joe’s heart thuds in his ear before Booker’s arms go around Joe’s back, clutching at the soft pajama top. Somehow, Joe pulls him even closer. Booker’s face falls into the warm space between Joe’s shoulder and neck. He’s trembling in Joe’s arms, shaking and clutching at him like he’s freezing and Joe’s a flame.

\--

They wind up on the deck floor, leaning against each other with their backs to the house watching the sunrise. There’s a saltwater stain on Joe’s shoulder and his cheeks are tacky; his skin’s itchy under his beard where the tears dried hours ago. Joe’s side is warm where it’s pressed up against Booker and he feels settled. His restless, heavy soul feels calm, like it’s back in his chest where it belongs and every part of him is soothed by it.

His head falls to the side to bonk against Booker’s as the sun lightens the sky from pink to golden orange to blue. He doesn’t want to get up; he’s satisfied enough just to listen to Booker’s even breathing beside him. The sounds of the neighborhood waking blankets over him with a familiar warmth. Cars start, dogs bark to be let back in the house, kids shout to each other on their way to school.

It feels surreal. He’s too calm after months of anxiety and he doesn’t want to be the one who moves first and breaks the spell over them, lest he finds himself waking up in bed and finding it all to have been a dream. His hand twitches in instinct to reach out and touch Booker, despite largely leaning against him, just to satisfy the urge in his hands to touch and prove his mind is truthful.

The door cracks open before his thoughts can spiral further; he and Booker look over at it in unison. Nicky steps out into the calm morning carrying two mugs. Joe’s heart swells at the sight and only twinges slightly at the dark circles under his eyes. Nicky gives them both a smile and leans to pass them both a mug. Joe reaches out and grabs at his wrist, giving it a single squeeze before taking the mug of warm coffee from his hand.

“Thank you,” he says softly. His voice floats delicately in the air, like a lazy leaf’s descent to the ground and Nicky’s smile goes impossibly softer.

“Nile’s making breakfast,” is all he says in response. He looks relaxed, despite his apparent exhaustion; his broad shoulders are loose, his eyes soft, his hair flopping lifelessly across his forehead. Joe’s overcome with the desire to pull him down and kiss him. Nicky reads his mind through his eyes and his smile gets a little crooked as mischief lights a spark in his sleepy eyes. He leaves wordlessly, however, the promise of later lingering as Joe’s eyes follow him back in the house. The door clicks shut and Joe lets his attention fall back to the yard before it drifts back to the man beside him.

Booker’s tilting the mug in his hands; Joe watches as the coffee moves towards the rim before Booker tilts it away again. Despite his desire to sit here and never move again, Joe’s stomach grumbles loudly and Booker huffs a laugh without looking up from his mug.

“We should go inside,” he says and without prompting, stands. Joe rolls to his feet too, feeling like he’s scrambling after him.

“We’re going to be okay,” Joe says haltingly, “aren’t we?”

Booker looks up and gives him a genuine smile. Joe’s heart pounds in his chest; it feels like it’s been decades since he’s last seen it. It gives him a head rush.

“Yeah,” Booker says softly, “we are.”

\--

Breakfast is heavy, but only because the tension that had become second-nature was gone and replacing it was an easy quiet. Joe ignores the looks cast between him and Booker and when he peeks up, he catches Booker’s eye and shares a smile with him.

The food rests warm and heavy in his belly and it’s not long before his eyelids begin to droop. He sneaks away upstairs and when he curls into bed, he leaves the bedroom door open. Nicky comes after him moments later and sits on the bed beside him.

“So, you talked with Booker?”

“Yeah,” Joe says, voice deepening with his exhaustion.

“Are you feeling better?”

Joe sighs deeply and his wiggles slightly to burrow deeper into the blankets, “Yeah.”

Nicky smiles and Joe feels ready to burst. “Good,” Nicky says softly and leans down to kiss at Joe’s temple. “I’ll let you rest.”

Joe watches Nicky leave and closes his eyes, letting the soft sounds of his family lull him to sleep.

\--

It’s easy to fall back into loving Booker; his whole being seems to relax with the rightness of having him at his side again. It’s a delicate thing at first. Joe isn’t sure how to bridge the canyon between them, but like with all things, he puts his heart into it fully and he’s rewarded.

They go from silent smiles, to quietly watching the game on TV together, to making jokes while they cook dinner.

When they go to the market, Joe joins them for the first time in months and when he sees something Booker would like, he buys it. Later that night, he finds a new journal leaned against the wall beside his bedroom and tears prick his eyes as happiness fills his chest to burst.

\--

Joe feels loose and relaxed; like he’s finally able to get a good stretch after being cramped for too long. He looks over at Nicky and Andy, at Nile, and then Booker. They’re all here; together. It’s more than Joe expected.

He watches them talk and laugh and feels a smile pull at his own lips – his happiness refusing to be unseen. Joe imagines what the next fifty years will be like: loud laughter and cramped dinner tables. He imagines the next hundred will be similar; he knows the future will be blanketed with the loss of Andy, but that’s later. For now, and the near future, this is all he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially, this is the end! Unofficially, there will be an epilogue <3 
> 
> thank you so much for the love and support you've shown me! this is the longest fic i've ever written (and the only long!fic i've ever completed) and it definitely wouldn't have happened without the kind words and kudos you all have given me <3 I hope it lives up to expectation <3

**Author's Note:**

> As always you can find me on tumblr: thekracken.tumblr.com :)


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